got up slowly, as if it hurt, and took the cake back to the kitchen. He washed the dishes, opened and closed drawers. Every sound scraped on Travis's nerves.
He turned the TV back on. Does that help? kept circling around his head. No, it didn't help. The only thing that would help was Rosco. He'd put his warm, heavy head on Travis's lap, and slobber on his leg, and Travis could bury his nose in those silky ears.
Grandpa took the trash out and was gone awhile.
When he came back, he closed the door gently behind him.
"You know what we could use?" he said. "A bonfire out in the swamp.
Remember how we used to do that when you were a little guy?"
"There's no swamp here." Travis meant to spit the words hard, but his voice shook.
Grandpa came back over and looked behind the recliner. He creaked down onto his hands and knees and peered under the couch. He put his hands on the coffee table and pushed himself back up, falling onto the couch beside Travis.
"Nope, you're right. I've looked everywhere. No swamp. What are we going to do about that?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Travis got up quickly.
As he closed his bedroom door behind him, he barely heard Grandpa's voice.
"Me too, buddy boy," he said. "Me too."
The next morning in social studies, Ms. Gordon called on Velveeta first. She taped a big red P and a big blue N on the board and performed a conversation between the Paleolithic guy and the Neolithic guy, standing first under the P
and then under the N.
She compared and contrasted, she rattled off facts about the people from each period, and she had everyone rolling in the aisles. No possible way Travis could have been part of that. He would have ruined it, even if he could have learned the lines.
Velveeta nodded to a standing ovation. She bowed in every direction and waved the end of her blue- on- light-blue scarf. The rest of the presentations were worse than the ones the day before. Travis would have fallen asleep if Velveeta hadn't kept popping bits of commentary in his ear.
When the bell finally rang, they walked out together.
"See, Travail?" she said. "You could've been part of Team Velveeta and shared the glory. You wouldn't even have had to say anything. I would have made you a sign to hold up. You would've been adorable, especially if you would've costumed up in caveman fur."
Chad Cormick jostled hard on the other side of Travis, knocking his books to the floor.
"So, Roberts, is this why you're not hoopin'? Too busy getting some Velveeta on the side?"
The bump and the words lit Travis up before he could douse the flame. He shoved Cormick hard against the lockers.
"Whoa, whoa, easy," said Chad, holding up both hands. "Sorry, sorry, dude, back down. Just a joke."
Travis dropped his hands and stepped back, breathing hard. Reeling it in, clamping down. Motion in the hallway stopped, and a circle of staring eyes surrounded him. Travis stepped backward, out of the center.
"Joke, man, just a joke." Cormick waved his hand back and forth, erasing the whole thing.
"Sorry," said Travis.
He bent down to pick up the books he'd dropped, eyes locked to the floor. In fourth grade on the bus he'd turned on Clay Rosen like that when Clay flashed him and put gum in his hair. One minute Travis was sitting there, ignoring it all. The next, Clay was holding his nose and crying while blood puddled on the floor of the bus and a whole ring of kids stared at Travis.
Velveeta's dirty black and white checkered sneakers appeared next to his pencil. Travis reached for it and tucked it into the spiral of his notebook. When he finally stood up, everyone but
Velveeta was gone.
"That was very Fight Clubby of you," she said. "Beating little Chaddy up right here in the school hallway."
"I didn't beat him up."
"It was so manly, defending my honor and all. If I give you a list, will you beat up everyone on it?"
She grinned, big joke. She didn't know about the puddle of blood, or Joey Nizmanski's concussion, or Grandpa in the
He turned the TV back on. Does that help? kept circling around his head. No, it didn't help. The only thing that would help was Rosco. He'd put his warm, heavy head on Travis's lap, and slobber on his leg, and Travis could bury his nose in those silky ears.
Grandpa took the trash out and was gone awhile.
When he came back, he closed the door gently behind him.
"You know what we could use?" he said. "A bonfire out in the swamp.
Remember how we used to do that when you were a little guy?"
"There's no swamp here." Travis meant to spit the words hard, but his voice shook.
Grandpa came back over and looked behind the recliner. He creaked down onto his hands and knees and peered under the couch. He put his hands on the coffee table and pushed himself back up, falling onto the couch beside Travis.
"Nope, you're right. I've looked everywhere. No swamp. What are we going to do about that?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Travis got up quickly.
As he closed his bedroom door behind him, he barely heard Grandpa's voice.
"Me too, buddy boy," he said. "Me too."
The next morning in social studies, Ms. Gordon called on Velveeta first. She taped a big red P and a big blue N on the board and performed a conversation between the Paleolithic guy and the Neolithic guy, standing first under the P
and then under the N.
She compared and contrasted, she rattled off facts about the people from each period, and she had everyone rolling in the aisles. No possible way Travis could have been part of that. He would have ruined it, even if he could have learned the lines.
Velveeta nodded to a standing ovation. She bowed in every direction and waved the end of her blue- on- light-blue scarf. The rest of the presentations were worse than the ones the day before. Travis would have fallen asleep if Velveeta hadn't kept popping bits of commentary in his ear.
When the bell finally rang, they walked out together.
"See, Travail?" she said. "You could've been part of Team Velveeta and shared the glory. You wouldn't even have had to say anything. I would have made you a sign to hold up. You would've been adorable, especially if you would've costumed up in caveman fur."
Chad Cormick jostled hard on the other side of Travis, knocking his books to the floor.
"So, Roberts, is this why you're not hoopin'? Too busy getting some Velveeta on the side?"
The bump and the words lit Travis up before he could douse the flame. He shoved Cormick hard against the lockers.
"Whoa, whoa, easy," said Chad, holding up both hands. "Sorry, sorry, dude, back down. Just a joke."
Travis dropped his hands and stepped back, breathing hard. Reeling it in, clamping down. Motion in the hallway stopped, and a circle of staring eyes surrounded him. Travis stepped backward, out of the center.
"Joke, man, just a joke." Cormick waved his hand back and forth, erasing the whole thing.
"Sorry," said Travis.
He bent down to pick up the books he'd dropped, eyes locked to the floor. In fourth grade on the bus he'd turned on Clay Rosen like that when Clay flashed him and put gum in his hair. One minute Travis was sitting there, ignoring it all. The next, Clay was holding his nose and crying while blood puddled on the floor of the bus and a whole ring of kids stared at Travis.
Velveeta's dirty black and white checkered sneakers appeared next to his pencil. Travis reached for it and tucked it into the spiral of his notebook. When he finally stood up, everyone but
Velveeta was gone.
"That was very Fight Clubby of you," she said. "Beating little Chaddy up right here in the school hallway."
"I didn't beat him up."
"It was so manly, defending my honor and all. If I give you a list, will you beat up everyone on it?"
She grinned, big joke. She didn't know about the puddle of blood, or Joey Nizmanski's concussion, or Grandpa in the
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