it was my mom, and worse than that, she had been crying.
“Hi,” I said quietly.
“Hi, Benjamin.” She sat down beside me on the bed.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I said.
She didn’t reply. In the light from the streetlights, I could see she was looking away, looking out the window across the street to the market where we get our groceries. It was beginning to seem as if she was going to stare at the market all night when she turned to me and took my hand and said we’d talk about it in the morning.
“What I want you to understand, Ben, and I know it’shard to understand, but you must make your own decisions about what you’ll do. You can’t be influenced by other boys, like Trout, who want a partner in crime.”
“I did make my own decision, Mom,” I said.
“I don’t know Trout and he might be wonderful. He might become a very good friend to you. But at the moment, he has come to Stockton with a very bad reputation.”
“He told me that.”
“Tonight, some of the parents at the meeting said they did not want their children to be around Trout. They said he was too odd. He isn’t polite to the teachers and he’s got that foolish question mark on his chin just announcing that he wants to cause trouble and he’s looking around for pranks like the Super Balls. These parents, and there were several of them, think he’s becoming a destructive influence and they want him put in the other section of fifth grade or sent into special education.”
“He’s not a destructive influence, whatever that is. He’s really nice, Mom. Really nice.”
“I’m glad he’s nice, Ben, but it worries me that the parents of the fifth graders will begin to think of you and Trout as a team.”
“We are,” I said. “A team is exactly what we are.”
She got up from the bed and put her hand on my forehead, but she didn’t kiss me, and then she left the room.
“When’ll Meg be home?” I asked, but she had gone and I already knew the answer.
I don’t know how it happened, but by May Day, when we have this big ceremony at Stockton and all the girls dress up and dance around the maypole, I was in tutoring every day. Even during the maypole dance, I was sitting at a desk on the second floor, listening to the music outside and trying to concentrate on what the tutor was saying about fractions. Trout was too, except we had different tutors.
Every day got to be the same. I’d meet Trout at the corner before the first bell. Then we’d go to homeroom and then to classes, where one teacher or another, all except Mr. Worth in science, who seemed to like Trout and me, would have something to say about us that wasn’t what we wanted to hear. During recess, we’d have tutoring. The same during lunch. Eat quickly and meet the tutor in the library. No time for recess then either. And after school,we’d have tutoring some more at the place downtown where I’ve gone since second grade. Since we didn’t have the same teachers for tutoring, Trout would be one place bored to death and I’d be another bored to death, and then we’d have a few minutes to talk before the next class. Some days I thought I would go crazy.
Which brings up another problem. I had to see a psychologist. This happened after the Super Balls. The principal and Mr. Baker and my mom and my dad had a meeting and somehow it was decided that once a week, on Friday afternoons after school, I’d talk to Dr. Fern. I didn’t have any interest in talking to Dr. Fern. I had nothing to say to him. But apparently that didn’t make any difference, since the plans had already been made for me to see him. So on Fridays I’d go to Dr. Fern’s office and sit in a chair across from him, and he’d ask me how I was and I’d say fine. And then he’d ask me what I meant by fine. Speaking of dumb questions. Fine means fine, right? And anyway, it was none of Dr. Fern’s business how I was.
Trout saw a psychologist too. A woman named Dr. Berriault, who had quite a
“Hi,” I said quietly.
“Hi, Benjamin.” She sat down beside me on the bed.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I said.
She didn’t reply. In the light from the streetlights, I could see she was looking away, looking out the window across the street to the market where we get our groceries. It was beginning to seem as if she was going to stare at the market all night when she turned to me and took my hand and said we’d talk about it in the morning.
“What I want you to understand, Ben, and I know it’shard to understand, but you must make your own decisions about what you’ll do. You can’t be influenced by other boys, like Trout, who want a partner in crime.”
“I did make my own decision, Mom,” I said.
“I don’t know Trout and he might be wonderful. He might become a very good friend to you. But at the moment, he has come to Stockton with a very bad reputation.”
“He told me that.”
“Tonight, some of the parents at the meeting said they did not want their children to be around Trout. They said he was too odd. He isn’t polite to the teachers and he’s got that foolish question mark on his chin just announcing that he wants to cause trouble and he’s looking around for pranks like the Super Balls. These parents, and there were several of them, think he’s becoming a destructive influence and they want him put in the other section of fifth grade or sent into special education.”
“He’s not a destructive influence, whatever that is. He’s really nice, Mom. Really nice.”
“I’m glad he’s nice, Ben, but it worries me that the parents of the fifth graders will begin to think of you and Trout as a team.”
“We are,” I said. “A team is exactly what we are.”
She got up from the bed and put her hand on my forehead, but she didn’t kiss me, and then she left the room.
“When’ll Meg be home?” I asked, but she had gone and I already knew the answer.
I don’t know how it happened, but by May Day, when we have this big ceremony at Stockton and all the girls dress up and dance around the maypole, I was in tutoring every day. Even during the maypole dance, I was sitting at a desk on the second floor, listening to the music outside and trying to concentrate on what the tutor was saying about fractions. Trout was too, except we had different tutors.
Every day got to be the same. I’d meet Trout at the corner before the first bell. Then we’d go to homeroom and then to classes, where one teacher or another, all except Mr. Worth in science, who seemed to like Trout and me, would have something to say about us that wasn’t what we wanted to hear. During recess, we’d have tutoring. The same during lunch. Eat quickly and meet the tutor in the library. No time for recess then either. And after school,we’d have tutoring some more at the place downtown where I’ve gone since second grade. Since we didn’t have the same teachers for tutoring, Trout would be one place bored to death and I’d be another bored to death, and then we’d have a few minutes to talk before the next class. Some days I thought I would go crazy.
Which brings up another problem. I had to see a psychologist. This happened after the Super Balls. The principal and Mr. Baker and my mom and my dad had a meeting and somehow it was decided that once a week, on Friday afternoons after school, I’d talk to Dr. Fern. I didn’t have any interest in talking to Dr. Fern. I had nothing to say to him. But apparently that didn’t make any difference, since the plans had already been made for me to see him. So on Fridays I’d go to Dr. Fern’s office and sit in a chair across from him, and he’d ask me how I was and I’d say fine. And then he’d ask me what I meant by fine. Speaking of dumb questions. Fine means fine, right? And anyway, it was none of Dr. Fern’s business how I was.
Trout saw a psychologist too. A woman named Dr. Berriault, who had quite a
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