Elliott Read online

  One of the boys shouted, “Well, if it isn’t old Slimy Sanderson come to join us. Look at that hair! When’s the last time you washed it?” He laughed and poked another boy in the ribs with his elbow.

  “His hair? Look at the hole in his pants,” a girl dressed in a nice pink dress that reached her knobby knees insisted. “He looks like he just rolled out of a garbage can!” The rest of the kids found her observation to be hilarious.

  Elliott ignored them. When he’d first started school a few weeks ago, he’d attempted to think of something witty to say back to their comments, but that usually just made them laugh louder. He’d have to think of something even more clever if he was going to sway this crowd, but for now, he couldn’t help but think they were mostly right. He was by far the tallest first grader, since he should’ve started school the year before, but his mom had “forgotten” to take him until some lady who said she was from “the state” insisted he begin to attend. He also weighed more than two of these other kids put together and figured he could do some real damage if he decided to punch one of them in the face, but he’d had enough violence and was hopeful school was a place where he could go to be safe, even if he was judged by every single child at his school.

  The bus pulled to a stop in front of them, and Elliott let the other kids climb aboard first, thinking it was safer that way. He knew he’d be tripped at least a half a dozen times by the older kids as he made his way down the aisle toward the back of the bus—not the way back where the cool kids and bullies sat, but past the middle—and sure enough, if he hadn’t been holding onto the seat backs with his free hand, he probably would’ve fallen. He found an empty seat, glad that the bus wasn’t nearly full yet by the time it reached his bus stop, and scooted all the way over to the window, content to look out at all the same small, shotgun style houses in his neighborhood that looked similar to his, though most of these were nicely painted, and their small concrete porches didn’t have half a railing missing on the left side like his did. Their yards were nicely mowed, without the same three or four foot tall weeds as his, and many of them had a car parked out front or in the drive whereas his mother didn’t even own a bicycle.

  At the next stop, several more kids got on so that the bus was beginning to fill up, and by the stop after that, the seat next to him was about the only option without squeezing three to a seat. He tried to avert his eyes so that whoever was unlucky enough to have to take it wouldn’t be embarrassed to have to sit with him--Slimy Sanderson.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  He looked up to see a pretty, tiny girl with golden curls wearing a light green dress peering at him through her eyelashes. She held her books in one hand and a lunch pail in the other.

  “Nah,” he managed, trying not to stare at her. She looked really nice, like the kind of girl who might rescue kittens from a drainage ditch or bring flowers for the teacher just because. Elliott had never seen her before. He scooted closer to the window.

  She sat down, and the bus proceeded. At first, she said nothing, and the noise from the rest of the kids yelling was enough to drown out the silence. But then, he heard the rustle of her dress as she turned to look at him. “My name is Carla.”

  The sound of her voice caused him to turn his head slightly before he caught himself. There was no sense in acknowledging her. She didn’t seem to know that she’d be outcast just for talking to him. So he said nothing.

  “What’s your name?”

  Again, he didn’t respond.

  Elliott felt a sharp tapping on his arm. “Hey, I said, ‘What’s your name?’” she insisted.

  He turned to look at her now. “Uh, Elliott,” he replied, trying not to make eye contact.

  “Elliott?” she repeated. “I like that. That’s a nice name.”

  Turning back to stare out the window, he muttered, “Thanks.”

  She was quiet again for a long time before he felt another poke. “Hey, where’s your lunchbox?”

  “Oh, I, uh, forgot it. At home.” He looked into her blue eyes momentarily and saw her head bob up and down. She’d bought the lie.

  “You’re going to be hungry by the end of the day.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “You can have some of mine. My mom always makes me way too much. I can’t eat a whole sandwich all by myself.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Elliott insisted, but she already had her lunchbox open. She wasn’t kidding about her mother over packing. Besides the sandwich, there was a large orange, a few cookies wrapped in a cloth, and some carrot sticks.

  “Here you go.” She handed him half of a sandwich, which she wrapped in a napkin.

  “I really… I don’t even have any place to put it.” As good as the sandwich looked, appearing to have both bologna and cheese on it, as well as a healthy helping of mayonnaise seeping out the side, he couldn’t just put it in his pocket.

  “That’s true.” She seemed to consider a solution. “Are you in second grade?” she asked.

  “Why did you ask that?” He felt offended that she’d just assume he was a second grader, even though, technically he should’ve been.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m in first grade, and I’ve never seen you on the playground at lunchtime before.”

  “I’m in first grade,” he assured her. He didn’t mention that he chose to sit around the corner of the building beneath a tree to eat his apple or whatever other meager scraps of food he’d manage to scrape together, away from the taunting of the other kids.

  “Oh. Well, if you’re in first grade, I can just give it to you at lunch. You can sit with me and my friends if you’d like.”

  “I, uh, have my own friends to sit with.” He looked her in the eye again, and she nodded once more. For some reason, whenever he looked her in the eye and told a lie, she seemed to believe it.

  “Okay. Well, then, just find me at recess, and I’ll share my sandwich with you, okay, Elliott?” Carla asked, smiling sweetly. She slipped the sandwich back into her plain metal lunchbox and latched the lid.

  “Okay,” Elliott agreed, though he wasn’t sure he’d do it. As tempting as it might be to have a sandwich for lunch, that would mean venturing out of his hidey hole to face the world, and since the last time he’d tried to play with the other kids at recess, they’d laughed at him and called him a giant, he thought maybe that wasn’t the best plan after all.

  The school was up ahead on the right, and Elliott was relieved to be getting away from Carla. She was nice, but talking to her made him feel all nervous inside, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Although, he thought maybe he liked her. She was the first kid at school to be nice to him at all. Maybe it was because she hadn’t seen the hole in his pants. Or maybe it was because he’d done his best to keep his hair clean lately, but she seemed to think he was okay—not Slimy Sanderson, not Chunky.

  There was only one other person who was nice to him at school, and he couldn’t wait to see her either. He took his time getting off of the bus, though, because he didn’t want to get tripped again. Once the other kids were all off, including Carla who’d told him goodbye and slipped into the aisle when the other kids next to them had gotten up, he made his way off of the bus.

  “Have a good day,” the bus driver said, and Elliott turned to look at him for the first time.

  He was an older man with his hat pulled down over his eyes. Elliott cocked his head to the side and really stared. While he’d never taken the time to study the bus driver before, there seemed to be something odd about him, and he wasn’t even sure if this was the same man who’d driven him to school for the last few weeks. “You, too,” he mumbled as his stomach did flipflops. The man’s skin was pale, and his eyes were an odd color. Maybe it was just the way the cap cast a shadow over his eyes, but they looked almost gray. Red rimmed the bottom of them, and his cheeks looked hollow somehow, even though the man’s paunch was even bigger than Elliott’s.

  Trying not to trip down the steps, Elliott backed off of the bu
s, watching as a sly smile spread across the driver’s face. Once his feet connected with the ground, Elliott rushed off toward the school building, letting thoughts of the spooky looking bus driver slip away as he remembered the other person he was happy to see—Miss Hays.

  On the first day of school, Miss Barbie Hays had announced that this was her first year as a schoolteacher. She was only twenty-two years old, she’d said, but she had always wanted to be a teacher and had just finished college in May. She had a kitten named Blossom and lived at home with her mom, dad, and younger sister, Margaret. Everything about Miss Hays was beautiful, from the long blonde hair she always wore up in a bun to the tip of her toes, always hidden behind her comfortable, flat shoes. Her dresses were always clean and wrinkle-free, and she smelled like flowers. She was the exact opposite of Arlene Howe, and from the moment Elliott had laid eyes on her, he was certain he was going to marry her.

  Most importantly of all, Miss Hays was kind. She seemed to think Elliott was smart. She never called him any of the awful things he was used to hearing, and she even let him have special jobs, like cleaning the erasers. She said it took a strong young man to get all of the chalk out of them, and he concurred. He always pounded them extra hard when she said things like that, just to show her there was muscle in his arms, too. It wasn’t all flab, as his mom said.

  When he got to class, Miss Hays greeted him with a smile, and he made his way to his seat, making sure the apple was still safe in his pocket, and sliding his books inside his desk. He sat next to a mean kid named Richard who liked to shove him in the arm whenever Miss Hays wasn’t looking, and another boy named Teddy whose dad had died in the war. Teddy still cried almost every day, and Miss Hays gave him lots of hugs. Sometimes, Elliott thought about telling her that his dad had also died in the war, but since he had no idea who his dad was, it was kind of hard to make up stories about him. At least his brother Jimmy would be able to say his dad got shot in the war and had to walk with a cane for the rest of his life because of it. Maybe if Jimmy had Miss Hays as his teacher, she would give him lots of hugs.

  Elliott thought about how Carla had believed everything he’d said when he was staring her in the eye and thought maybe that might work on Miss Hays, too. Maybe he could think of something sad to tell her, something believable, something that would earn him a hug.

  A few more kids made their way into the classroom just as the bell was ringing, and Elliott decided it was now or never. Sniffling loudly, the way Jimmy often did when he didn’t get his way, Elliott swiped at his eyes. The kids around him began to snicker and one of them, another big kid who sat on the other side of Richard, called him a baby. This caught Miss Hays’s attention and she made her way over, swinging her hips as she scooted between the desks. “Elliott, honey, what’s the matter?” she asked, leaning down to speak to him.

  The yellow dress she had on wasn’t lowcut at all, but from this angle, Elliott could see her cleavage and was fascinated. He tried not to stare, remembering his plan. He turned, and still sniffling, made the most pathetic face he could as he managed, “My… cat… Socks… died.”

  “Oh, no!” Miss Hays lamented. “That’s so terrible!” She grasped his head and pulled it to her chest.

  With his face pressed up against her bosom, Elliott could hardly believe his luck. Had that actually worked? Caught between wanting to breath in the scent of lavender and roses and the need to continue the charade, he took a moment, and a deep breath, and said, “He got hit by a car. It was awful I had to… bury him myself.” He broke into more sobs.

  A few kids snickered, and Miss Hays held him tighter. “Boys and girls! That’s not nice at all! We do not make fun of our classmates, especially not when something so horribly sad has happened. Now, you stop it this instant!”

  The rest of the class went quiet. Miss Hays released him, and Elliott slowly turned to face her. She dropped so that she was crouched down next to him. “Elliott, sweetheart, I’m so sorry about your cat. I know it’s heartbreaking, but these things happen sometimes. It’s just awful. We’ll do our best to remember what a wonderful cat Socks was, and someday, it will hurt a little less. I know it’s so hard to go on with our lives when something so tragic has happened. But you’re a strong boy, and I know you’ll find a way to make it through.” With a sympathetic look on her face, she patted him lovingly on the hand and then stood up, heading back to the front of the room.

  Elliott did his best to hide a smile. He might be a liar, but he’d had his face pressed to Miss Hays’s bosom, and if that meant he was going to hell, at least he’d go happy. He didn’t even care when that fat kid in the back of the room whispered, “Strong? Yeah, Slimy Sanderson is strong. I can smell him from here,” and all the other kids laughed. Let them laugh while he continued to inhale the scent of lavender and roses.

  Chapter 3

  Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, 1947

  Venturing out from the shadows of the school building was risky, and he wasn’t sure it was worth it. While he’d had a great morning, and the feel of Miss Hays’s breasts still felt fresh upon his cheek, the allure of half a bologna and cheese sandwich called to him, so, once the other kids were busy playing hopscotch and swinging, he began to look around for Carla.

  It only took him a few seconds to see her sitting at a picnic table with several other girls outfitted in similar dresses, eating out of similar lunch boxes. For a moment, Elliott wondered what it might be like to live in their houses. He bet none of them had to fix breakfast for their baby brothers or scrub their own clothes. If he had to wager, he’d guess none of them made their own dinner out of whatever the lady from the food pantry dropped off or squashed cockroaches by the dozens in the middle of the night as they made their way to the bathroom.

  Carla looked up and met his eyes as he was walking over. “There he is! My new friend!” she said smiling. The looks of disgust that flickered across the other four girls’ faces were only barely noticeable when Elliott saw her beaming at him. “Come on over, Elliott. I saved you a spot.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to bother anybody,” he said, noticing how the other girls were still looking at him like he’d just crawled out of the garbage truck. But Carla had skootched herself over even closer to her friend and was patting the green, splintered wood next to her.

  “Don’t be silly. My friends don’t mind.” Their faces said otherwise, but he took a seat just the same. Immediately, Carla handed over half of her sandwich and one of her carrot sticks.

  “Thanks,” Elliott said, nodding. He was careful not to shove the entire sandwich into his mouth in one chunk, but after the first bite, the growling in his stomach started to kick in, and it was all he could do to restrain himself. The other girls stared at him in amazement, but Carla just giggled. “I didn’t have any breakfast,” he lied. All five heads nodded, as if he’d just spoken the gospel truth. There was something to this lying business, and he was beginning to think it might serve him well.

  “You can have one of my cookies,” another girl, a brunette with her hair in two pigtails offered, handing it over.

  He took it with a nod and thanked her before biting into what turned out to be the most delicious item he’d ever put in his mouth. He’d heard that some moms actually baked cookies for their children, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. Now, he knew it was true. The closest thing he’d ever had to this chocolatey deliciousness was when the lady from the food pantry had brought over a box of expired cookies that had been hard as rocks—but still completely devoured by both boys before their mom even woke up to know they’d been delivered.

  “Your mom must be a good cook,” a little redheaded girl said. “You’re really big.”

  “This?” Elliott asked, making a muscle with his arm. “Nah, this ain’t from eating too much. This is all strength, you see? I practice lifting heavy things at my house all the time. And I eat lots of spinach and other vegetables. My mom says it’ll make me big and strong.”

  “Well, so far she’s r
ight,” the cookie girl said, grinning at him. “If that’s all muscle, you gotta be the strongest boy here.”

  “That’s Melissa,” Carla said. “And that’s Ginger.” She pointed to the redhaired girl. “This is Becky, Rachel, and Kimberly.”

  “Howdy,” Elliott said, making the girls giggle. It seemed like all of them wanted to be in on sharing their lunches, and before he knew it, Elliott was stuffed full, a feeling he had never had at school before. At home, sometimes he could manage to eat most of a loaf of bread or a whole box of cereal in one night if the milk wasn’t bad yet, but at school, he was used to feeling like his whole stomach was inside out. Not today.

  “What does your father do for a job?” the brown haired girl named Becky asked, batting her eyelashes at him. “Mine’s a lawyer, a real good one, too.”

  “My dad?” Elliott asked, stumbling for the right answer. They were all staring at him, five pairs of large eyes batting away like he was the crowned prince of Timbuktu. “Oh, I ain’t got a dad. You see, he was killed. In the war.” They all sighed at the same time and covered their mouths. “Yeah, maybe you’ve heard of him? His name was Captain Roger Sanderson. He was an Air Force pilot. He shot down lots of Zeros and other planes. Even some… Nazi planes. But… his plane crashed into the ocean the day before the war ended.” He mustered up a few fake tears, though he kept them in his eyes, because he was a man after all. “My mama said she died that day, too.”

  All of the girls were whimpering and more than one of them had a solitary tear rolling down her cherub-like cheek. “You poor, poor thing,” Carla said, patting him on the shoulder.

  “Thank you,” Elliott said, hanging his head. “But… as hard as it is, we just had to go on, you know? I mean… these things happen. As tragic as it is, people die. And we don’t want to ever forget them. I never met my daddy that I remember, because I was just a baby when he left for the war, but I’ll remember the stories my mama tells about him. And I’ll go on with my life and make him proud.”