Alex Ryan, Stop That! Page 3

  Then the rhythm of the run took over, and Alex kept on going, feet pounding, heart pumping, losing track of how many laps he had completed, of how many he had left to go, blissfully thinking of nothing at all.

  4

  WHEN ALEX WOKE UP ON SATURDAY MORNING, he found a note on the kitchen table. “Good morning, honey! Dad’s at work, I’m running errands, Cara’s at gymnastics. Be good. I love you, Mom.” Under the signature was a heart, and three x’s and three o’s for kisses and hugs.

  Alex crumpled the note and sent it flying toward the wastebasket, but down deep he liked his mother’s notes. The paper landed neatly in the basket. Two points! Too bad basketball season was over for the year.

  He poured himself some of his mom’s homemade granola and ate it with his fingers, no milk. A long, empty morning stretched ahead of him. He would go for a run, but he had done something funny to his left ankle at the end of practice yesterday, and Coach Krubek had said to take the weekend off from training. He could work on his Anasazi report for social studies, but that was lame.

  Just as he was about to call Dave to see if he felt like biking to the mall, the doorbell rang. It was Dax.

  “Cara’s not here. She’s at gymnastics.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot. When’ll she be back?”

  The note hadn’t said. Alex squinted at the clock: ten-thirty. “Soon?” he guessed.

  “Can I wait for her here? Your dad’s not around, is he?”

  “No. I mean, sure. You can wait for her here.”

  Dax followed Alex into the kitchen. He was wearing a sleeveless black T-shirt and baggy jeans with holes in both knees. A battered paperback book was shoved into his back pocket. Alex’s mother might not notice what earring Dax was wearing, but Alex did: some kind of red stone. A ruby? Alex doubted it was a real one.

  Should he offer Dax something to eat? If so, what? “You hungry?”

  “Nah. I just ate. So how’s it going?”

  “Okay.”

  Dax was a senior at the same high school as Cara, but he wasn’t taking college prep classes; he was in vo-tech. That was even worse than the earring, in Alex’s father’s eyes.

  “School’s almost over,” Dax said.

  “Yeah. First we have to go to outdoor ed, though.”

  “Cool. Soon as I graduate, I’m planning to be outdoors every day for the rest of my life. No desk job for me.”

  “It’d be cooler if they weren’t making us do all this other stuff while we’re there. You know, nature journals, stuff like that.” And if my dad weren’t going, too.

  “Sounds okay. Did you ever read Walden, by Thoreau? You could call it a nature journal, sort of. One of my favorite books.”

  Dax pulled the book from his pocket and opened it, seemingly at random: “‘The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,’” he read to Alex. “Is that true, or what?” He flipped through a few more pages. “‘Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.’” He glanced down at his own torn pants, and grinned.

  Alex hadn’t known Dax was that much of a reader. He guessed he hadn’t expected a vo-tech guy to love to read.

  “My dad says he’s coming. To outdoor ed. As one of the parent volunteers.” Alex didn’t know why he’d blurted that out. Maybe so Dax wouldn’t go on and on about how much fun outdoor ed was going to be.

  “Maybe he’ll spend most of his time hanging with the other parents.”

  “Maybe.”

  “He sure hates my guts. I wouldn’t care, but it’s hard on Cara. I didn’t know there were parent types who still got bent out of shape about a guy wearing an earring.”

  “It’s not just the earring,” Alex said. Then he wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want Dax to feel worse than he did already.

  “I know, I know. I’m not going to college. I’m not going to—Where’d your dad go? He only told me six times.”

  “Cornell.”

  “That’s right. I’m not going to Cornell. I’m going to work with my hands, out in the sun and the rain and the wind. I’ll get myself a cabin in the woods somewhere, like Thoreau did, and just live. And if guys like your dad don’t like it, that’s too bad.” Dax opened his book again: “‘Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private opinion. What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather, indicates, his fate.’”

  Alex wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean.

  “It doesn’t matter what other people think of you,” Dax translated. “What matters is what you think of yourself.”

  Well, that was a convenient quote for someone like Dax, who obviously wasn’t going anywhere in his life. It sure wasn’t what Alex’s dad believed.

  Alex heard Cara’s car in the driveway. Dax’s face lit up. Alex couldn’t imagine someone’s face ever lighting up like that for him, not at the rate he was going. Maybe he should ask Dax what to do about what he said to Marcia. It wasn’t as if he had anyone else he could ask for advice about girls. But Dax probably would never have made a comment that stupid in the first place.

  “Take care,” Dax said. “Give Thoreau a try sometime.”

  “Okay,” Alex said. He doubted that he would.

  Dave wasn’t home when Alex called. Alex tried a few other guys. They weren’t home, either. Then Alex pulled out the school directory and looked up Marcia’s number. Maybe he’d call her just to say hello, and after he’d said hello, she’d say hello, and they’d chat for a while about nothing in particular, and everything would be the way it had been before.

  Alex dialed her number. But as soon as he heard Marcia’s voice chirping “Hello?” he hung up. He couldn’t go through with the call. He just couldn’t.

  The instant he put the phone down, it occurred to him that she might have Caller-ID. He could imagine the digital display lighting up, all in caps: ALEX RYAN. Alex was named after his dad, but he wasn’t a junior. They had different middle names. His dad was Alexander Arthur. He was Alexander Anthony.

  Oh, well. Maybe it would be okay if Marcia knew he had tried to call. Maybe calling a girl and hanging up when she answered the phone counted as saying you were sorry for hurting her feelings.

  Alex clicked on the TV and then clicked it off again. He might as well take some notes for his report on the Anasazi. Alex liked to goof off as much as he could in class, but then get a good grade, anyway. His dad gave him too much grief if his grades weren’t A’s.

  By lunchtime he had the whole first draft done. Not bad for two hours’ work. He drifted downstairs to check in with his mom, back from her errands.

  “Someone’s been awfully quiet this morning,” she said. “You haven’t been sleeping all this time, have you?”

  “Homework.” Alex was conscious of the halo glowing around his head.

  “Not playing games on the computer?”

  “Homework,” Alex repeated. “I got my social studies report practically done.”

  His mother looked impressed. Alex usually left any weekend homework until late on Sunday night.

  “If I had some money, I could bike to the mall …”

  “Hand me my purse.”

  Alex was happy to fetch it for her. From her wallet she pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to him. He was off.

  West Creek had great bike paths everywhere, so he could ride to the mall without worrying about cars. Once there, he looked around to see if he could find any of the guys from school, and to make sure Marcia didn’t somehow sneak up on him. Just as he was about to give up and eat alone, Julius and Ethan appeared at the entrance to the food court.

  “Zimmerman! Winfield!” Alex was surprised by how glad he was to see them. They weren’t even his friends, really, but they were vastly better than nobody. “You guys eating here?”

  “We don’t have any money,” Julius said.

  “I do. Ten bucks. That’s enough for all of us. What do you want? Really, it’s my mom’s money,” Alex added when he saw Ethan hesitate. “She’d want me to treat you guys.”


  They all ordered burgers. Alex felt so good to be sitting with kids who weren’t mad at him, who weren’t likely to get mad at him, that on impulse he said, “Tonight. You want to have a sleepover at my house?” His parents never minded when he had friends over: his mom, because she was so hospitable; his dad, because he wanted to be able to brag to other people about how popular his son was. Plus, his dad always liked having a captive audience.

  Ethan shot a quick look at Julius. Now Alex was sorry he had asked. Couldn’t either of these guys decide anything without consulting the other one? Just because they were best friends didn’t make them Siamese twins.

  “Sure,” Ethan said, after a pause that went on a second too long. “I mean, I have to ask my parents first.”

  “I have to ask mine, too,” Julius echoed.

  Oh, forget it, Alex felt like saying. He didn’t want to beg anybody to come to his house. If Ethan and Julius weren’t all that thrilled about the sleepover, he wasn’t, either.

  But the invitation had already been issued. It was too late to back out now. As soon as he got home, he’d call Dave to see if he could come, too. With Ethan and Julius, Alex always felt like the odd man out. With Dave there, it would be two against two.

  As soon as he got home from the mall, Alex called Dave again. But Dave couldn’t come over that night: his grandmother was in town for a visit. So Alex was going to have to manage the sleepover without him. Both Ethan and Julius had left messages saying that they could come.

  Ethan and Julius appeared at the door at eight o’clock, each with a small duffel and a sleeping bag. It didn’t help that Alex’s father was the one to greet them.

  “Hey, boys, come on in. We don’t bite, you know.” He laughed heartily, as if he had just said something funny. “Come on, Alex, greet your guests. Take them upstairs and show them where to stow their gear.”

  Things started to look up when Alex’s father retired to his office and Alex’s mother appeared with a tray of homemade brownies, fresh from the oven. And, luckily, Mr. Bear was well hidden under Alex’s bed when they finally went to his room. Alex had taken pains to hide him. He had made sure his bed was unmade, too, and that some of his dirty clothes were strategically strewn across the floor. If Ethan and Julius thought he was a wuss after his dad’s remark at outdoor ed, one look at his room would convince them that he was definitely a regular guy.

  But the sleepover dragged. They played a bunch of Nintendo, but couldn’t agree on a video. Ethan probably wasn’t allowed to watch anything except Mary Poppins . And if Julius ever tried to operate a VCR, he would most likely tear up the tape. All the sewing machines in their family-living class at school broke permanently on the day Julius used them.

  Alex had to think of something. Although his parents and Cara had already gone to bed, it was only eleven o’clock. Alex had never heard of a sleepover where people went to sleep before midnight.

  “Hey, I have an idea!” he said. It was a good one, too—one that would cancel out his father’s Mr. Bear remark forever. “My parents are asleep. Let’s sneak out and T.P. somebody’s tree.”

  He could already hear their answers: Ooh, we’re not supposed to do that. Ooh, my mommy will spank me if she finds out.

  Ethan looked at Julius, and Julius looked at Ethan. As usual.

  “Like wrap it in toilet paper?” Julius asked.

  “Duh.”

  “Whose tree?” Ethan asked.

  This was encouraging. They hadn’t said right out they wouldn’t do it. They were probably as bored as Alex was. Besides, any kid would like to wrap a tree in toilet paper. Alex had been longing to do it ever since some guy who liked Cara had done it to their tree two years ago.

  “Anyone’s.” Suddenly Alex had a truly brilliant idea. Marcia. If he wrapped her tree magnificently in toilet paper, she’d have to forgive him for everything. “Maybe Faitak,” Alex said carefully, trying not to sound too eager.

  “Won’t her parents mind?” Julius asked.

  “We’ll ask their permission first.” Alex threw up his hands. “Guys! Parents mind everything.”

  “I guess we could kind of be walking by their house tomorrow morning and help clean it up,” Ethan suggested.

  Right. Hi, Marcia. Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Faitak. We just happened to be walking by to see if you had any toilet paper wrapped all over your tree that we could help you clean up. These two were hopeless.

  “It’s not that big a deal to clean it up,” Alex said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. “It’ll all blow off the first time it’s really windy. It’ll look great! Like a work of art. Like a tree with bee-you-ti-ful white lace all over it.”

  “Bee-you-ti-ful white lace made out of toilet paper,” Julius said.

  To Alex’s relief, Ethan cracked up. The plan was a go.

  Alex found six rolls of toilet paper under the sink in the bathroom down the hall that he and Cara shared. He stuffed them in his backpack with his set of house keys. Then, with exaggerated stealth, the three boys tiptoed downstairs in their stocking feet. The carpet on the stairs was so thick no footsteps could be heard.

  Slowly, carefully, Alex eased open the front door. It was almost midnight, and their deserted cul-de-sac was deathly quiet. A slight breeze stirred: the chilly air on Alex’s face felt moist and fresh, after the stuffiness of the house. This was so great!

  Alex led the way, once they had all hastily shoved their feet into their shoes, the other boys following. A car went by, driving fast. That was how Alex would drive someday, when he had a car of his own. His dad had bought Cara her own car the day she turned sixteen.

  They reached Marcia’s home—a sprawling brick house with half the rooms built over a huge three-car garage. There was a large tree on the front lawn, its leaves newly opened. Maybe an oak? Alex didn’t know one tree from another. But he knew when a tree was perfect for wrapping.

  “What do we do now?” Ethan asked.

  Hadn’t Ethan’s older brother taught him anything? “You just throw the toilet paper roll over a branch, catch it, and then throw it again. Try not to make too much noise. We don’t want anyone calling the police.” Alex added the last line with deliberate nonchalance, as if he had extensive experience in dodging the long arm of the law. As soon as he said it, he realized it was a mistake.

  “Let’s go back,” Julius said. He and Ethan turned to go.

  “Guys.” Alex knew he had to act quickly. He ripped at the toilet paper to free the edge of the roll and unrolled it several times. Then, holding on to the last sheet of paper with his left hand, with his right he hurled the roll in the general direction of the tree, then ran and caught it. The toilet paper unfurled in a long, satisfying arc. It was glorious to see. Alex threw it again, farther this time. The toilet paper gleamed ghostly in the moonlight.

  “Here.” He tossed a roll to Ethan and one to Julius.

  In a moment, all three boys were throwing their rolls of toilet paper, higher and higher. Julius emitted one high-pitched giggle before Ethan pounced on him. But no lights came on in Marcia’s windows.

  Alex stepped back to admire the overall effect of their handiwork. Pretty spectacular, though a number of upper branches were still uncovered. “I’m going up,” he announced to the others. “Give me a boost.”

  Ethan laced his fingers into a stirrup, and Alex grabbed on to the lowest branch and swung himself up. Then he climbed cautiously upward, wrapping as he went. He could have peered into the upstairs bedroom windows, if the curtains had been open. He wondered which one was Marcia’s. She was in for a surprise when she looked outside the next morning.

  Would she guess he had done it? Alex Ryan, star of the West Creek track-and-field team. Alex Ryan, underwear king. Alex Ryan, host of the wildest sleepover ever.

  Alex climbed out onto a narrow branch, bound and determined to wrap every last limb of Marcia’s tree.

  “Be careful!” Ethan cautioned from below in a loud whisper.

  “Fear not, Bubba!”
Alex mouthed back cockily.

  Too cockily. On Bubba, the branch began to crack. Alex tried to swing himself to a sturdier branch, but it was too late. Under his struggling weight, the bough broke. Alex fell with it, through a blur of fluttering toilet paper, to the hard ground below.

  5

  FOR AN INSTANT ALEX LAY STILL, stunned by the impact of the whole left side of his body slamming into the ground. He was afraid he might throw up.

  As Ethan and Julius came thundering over to him, a light flashed on in one of the upstairs windows.

  Alex saw it first. In a hoarse whisper, he urged, “Run!”

  “Are you okay?” Julius asked.

  “Run!”

  They ran.

  Somehow Alex managed to stumble to his unsteady feet. His left shoulder and arm hurt incredibly. Maybe he had broken something. Better his arm than his leg. He couldn’t run track with a broken leg. But he didn’t have time to think about any of that now.

  A huge pair of spotlights on the garage suddenly lit up Marcia’s front lawn. Shielding his face with his good arm, Alex took off after the others. A streamer of torn toilet paper, stuck fast to his shoe, trailed behind him as he fled.

  He caught up with Ethan and Julius where they were waiting for him, two long blocks away.

  “Man,” Ethan panted.

  “I don’t think they saw me,” Alex said. “At least, they didn’t see my face.”

  “When that branch broke, I thought for sure it was curtains for you.” Julius gave Alex a friendly whack on the shoulder. Unfortunately, it was his injured left shoulder.

  Alex winced. “Take it easy. My left arm doesn’t feel so good.”

  “You think it’s broken?” Ethan asked.

  “We could immobilize it,” Julius suggested. “‘If you have no other bandaging materials handy, you can use—toilet paper!’”

  All three boys started to laugh. It was probably relief at having escaped Marcia’s parents, rather than the joke itself, but Alex’s laughter came uncontrollably, in great gut-wrenching guffaws.