Chapter 1

The drinking fountain burbles its stream in a satisfying arc. Not too high, not too low. The pressure is just right. I put my lips to it and enjoy the refreshing water. It is typically ice cold! The coldest water of any fountain in the whole school. I take a couple more slurps, raise my chin and wipe the dribbles off my mouth.

My last drink from that fountain. Check.

My last walk down this hallway. Check.

My last lunch in that cafeteria. Check.

I have checked off item after item from my last-day-of-school checklist.

My last math class. Check.

My last recess. Check.

My last use of the restroom. Check.

Next year, I’ll be in junior high, and I will start a new checklist.

First day of seventh grade. First Algebra class. First P.E. class. …

I can’t wait. The guidance counselor told me last week that I’ll be enrolled in advanced classes. The subjects sound interesting — American Literature, World History, Space & the Universe. I’ll get to take electives in subjects I enjoy — Band, French, and Forensics. I hope I’ll get good grades. Teachers have always called me a smart guy — top of the class!

I take another sip from the fountain. Someone behind me slaps my head and my mouth hits the spigot.

“Drink up, wuss!”

I cringe and turn around. I feel my lips. No blood, thank goodness.

It’s Doug Walters. What does this dumbass want now? I was hoping that the day would go by without him messing with me. But I guess I was hoping wrong. Last time he bullies me? Check. I hope.

He looks back and forth to make sure no teachers can see us. He shoves the sleeves of his oversized red flannel shirt up over his elbows. He sweeps his hair out of his eyes. He is tall and gangly and looks like a tree without leaves. He towers over me.

“Hey, Doug,” I say. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Riley,” he says with a tone of snark. “I just wanted to say, so long, it’s been nice to know you — pal!

He holds out his hand. I look down at it and look back up at his face. Why did he put so much emphasis on that last word?

“O-okay,” I say, as I grasp his outstretched hand. Why is he being so friendly? Doug usually wastes no time letting me know what he thinks of me. All year long, he has picked on me, teased me, and bullied me.

One time, he stuck his foot out in the cafeteria. It caught me in mid-stride, causing me to sprawl out on the floor, spill my food and make a huge mess.

“Did you have a nice trip, you wimp?” he teased.

Everyone laughed.

He once caught me in the restroom and shoved my face into a flushing toilet.

“How do you like that swirling whirly, faggot?” he jeered. “That’ll teach you not to peek while I’m peeing, you perv.”

Luckily, my face didn’t hit the water. But I had not been peeking at him. And I am not a faggot.

The worst thing that happened was at a recent assembly. I was being called to the front to receive some kind of award. He was sitting in an aisle seat, and as I passed him, he yanked my pants down. My face turned as red as the new underwear I had on that day (Jockey briefs — the kind Jim Palmer wears).

Again, all who saw the deed laughed.

Besides bullying me, Doug also tries to copy off of my exams. He manages to sit next to me on test days. To keep the peace, I let him see a few answers. The teacher always catches him.

“Eyes on your own paper, Douglas,” she will say.

He will then flick my ear or kick me.

He pays so much attention on me, I must hold a special place in his heart. It’s annoying as hell. So, I wonder what he’s up to now.

His bony fingers wrap around my entire hand and he squeezes it — hard. I am suddenly in pain, but I will not let him know that. I grit my teeth.

“I want to thank you, for all the times you got me in trouble,” he says, as he twists my hand backward, causing me to bend forward.

“Thanks, for being the class smarty-pants, pal,” he says, as he puts his other arm against my chest. “You think you know so much more than the rest of us.”

“Thanks, for being the teacher’s ‘shining example’ of a good student, pal,” he says as he slams me against the wall.

“Thanks, for being my personal ass licker! Ha!”

Now I know what he meant by that word. It was an acronym.

Next year, you are gonna get it,” he says, as he leans in. “I’m gonna be on you every day, pounding your ass.”

My dirty mind conjures up an image, but I don’t think he means it the way I envision. I don’t think he knows what that phrase means. But that’s typical for Walters. He is the dumbest kid in class. I’ve seen his test scores. I have spied them when the teacher passed the graded papers back to us.

“Hmm,” I say. I look down at our hands. “So, are you queer for me or something, Dougie? I’m sorry, but I don’t like you that way.”

Walters lets go of my hand and shoves me against the wall again.

“Shut up, asshole,” he says.

I cock my head and shrug my shoulders. He storms off.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn quickly, reflexively, and see that it’s Kendall, my best friend.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, shaking my hand to get the blood flowing again.

“You need me to knock his block off?”

Kendall is my guardian angel. He comes to my rescue a lot. He is bigger and stronger than most guys our age. He tells bullies to “knock it off, or I’ll knock your block off.” When he saw Anson Sisson giving me a noogie, he ran up and pulled Sisson off of me. He reached into the back of his pants, grabbed his underwear, and gave him an atomic wedgie.

“Hah, no. I think I took care of it,” I say. “C’mon, let’s get to class.”

 

* * *

 

As we enter the classroom, Miss Palomar, our homeroom teacher, is leaning on her desk.

“All right,” she says. “Welcome back. How was lunch?”

My classmates give our teacher various answers.

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“Pizza! Yum.”

“Nice! All right, we had some fun this morning, writing about our summer plans,” the teacher says. “Let me read you a few of them.”

Don’t read mine, don’t read mine, don’t read mine, I say to myself.

“Here’s one,” she picks one out and reads,

 

Ahoy, me hearties! Let me tell you a tale — a tale of adventure and derring-do! My summer will be arrgh-some! It’s going to be smooth sailing. I’ll be “cast” away in a play — as a pirate of Neverland. My life will be free and easy, mateys! I’ll walk the plank and swim with the crocodile before I ever crack open a book.

 

She looks up at us. Her eyes dart to mine.

“I certainly hope you do manage to read something this summer!”

My classmates groan. I slink down in my seat in the third row. She is reading mine, and everyone knows it because all I can talk about these days is being in Peter Pan at the Children’s Community Theater this summer. She keeps reading …

 

When I am back on land, I’ll be heading into the wilderness with the Boy Scouts. We will pitch our tents and chop some wood and learn to tie knots. I’ll be working on my badges in astronomy, orienteering, and backpacking — so when I am camping, I can explore the stars — “the second star to the right and on until morning.

“Me mates and I will go swimming at the dam. (I hope we don’t encounter any crocodiles!) We will ride the wind on our bikes, play the sportiest of games, and do, oh, so much more!”

She puts the paper down and shuffles the papers to find another essay.

“Short and sweet,” she says, as she looks at me again. Is she talking about my paper, or about me? I’m barely 5 feet tall. Every one of my classmates is taller than me, even the girls. It bothers me a little bit. But I’ve learned that I can’t do anything about it, so I accept my size. Others, though, think of me as easy pickings. Bullies, especially Doug Walters, like to pick on the “little guy.” I hope that changes soon. It’s getting tiresome.

As Miss Palomar reads the plans of some other classmates, I look around at them.

In the front row is Kendall Settler, my best friend — the best ever in the whole wide world. He didn’t choose to sit there; Miss Palomar put him there so she could keep a better eye on him. He likes to talk during class, make jokes, and generally cause distractions.

Mindy Graham sits behind him. Last year, she claimed me as her boyfriend for about a week, before dropping me for Wesley Hess. Wesley is seated beside her, looking as smug as ever. He thinks he is so smart. We are archenemies. We compete against each other in getting high scores on tests. I usually get the better grade. It pisses him off. Ha-ha!

Sitting on the other side of Mindy is Paige Whitson, who was my science lab partner. I sigh. I think she’s cute. I’m thinking about asking her out. But having a girlfriend would interfere with my awesome summer plans! So, I don’t know … She and Mindy look at me, put their hands over their mouths and whisper something to each other. Then they giggle. That makes me nervous. Why do girls do that? Make me nervous, I mean. They didn’t used to do that. I didn’t used to be nervous around girls.

And right beside me is Doug Walters. He is currently sprawled out on his desk, his head in his arms. He may even be asleep. I will be glad to be rid of him.

The afternoon wears on. We spend it throwing away tattered spiral notebooks with smashed spines, scribbled-on papers, old tests, pencil stubs, eraser nubs, and all the other junk that we have crammed into our desks. My backpack is stuffed with found treasures, including a protractor and compass, a box of crayons, an unused pencil box, a baseball trading card, and a small Slinky — things that I thought I had lost long ago.

For the millionth time, I look at the face of the clock above Miss Palomar’s desk. Under my desk, my foot bounces to the tempo of the ticking. We are going to be released early, at 3:12 p.m. Why they picked that time, I’ll never know. But it’s getting close! My eyes wander down to the face of Miss Palomar. She’s staring back at me.

I like Miss Palomar. Of all the teachers I’ve ever had, she is my favorite. She likes to tell us stories about her adventures, and they are fascinating. She has explored castles in Romania, including Dracula’s castle in Transylvania! She has ridden the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. She has walked along the Great Wall of China. She has even lived with a tribe in the Amazon rainforest.

When she tells us these tales, her eyes sparkle. Her voice gets all bubbly and energetic. Her body gets animated. She waves her arms, and paces back and forth in front of her desk. She is exuberant, vivacious, and perky. (These words were all on our last vocabulary test.)

“I’ll tell you what’s perky, Riley,” Kendall said after that test as he held his cupped hands over his chest. “Know what I mean?”

Some of the guys often talk about Miss Palomar that way. She’s very pretty, yes. But I don’t think of her in that way.

She motions for me to come up to her desk.

“I expect great things out of you, Riley Shrader,” she says. “Make astonishing discoveries, create beautiful works of art, travel to fantastic places — or all of the above!

“But most importantly, in all you do, treat people with kindness and respect.”

“Of course!”

“Let me tell you, Riley, that just because you are smarter than someone, that does not mean you are better than them,” she says.

She cocks her head toward Walters. What does she mean by that?

“Never be condescending,” she adds.

“Umm, okay,” I say.

I sit down and think about what Miss Palomar said. Do I think I’m better than Doug? Hmm. Well, I am smarter. Way smarter. But am I better? I look at him. His clothes are old and worn. His red flannel shirt has some rips. His shoes are scuffed up, and maybe a size too small. His little toe peeks out of a hole on the side.

My clothes may be in better shape — although I have a hole in the knee of my jeans — but Papa Riley, my grandpa, said that what’s on the outside doesn’t matter as much as what’s on the inside. “Love the skin that you’re in,” he taught me.

Doug is an asshole. His bullying has worn me out. Kendall has knocked his block off a few times. But does he think I’m an asshole, too? I’ve never said a nice word to him. I wonder if he pesters me because I don’t treat him like a friend. I treat him like a poor, dumb, schmuck.

Doug opens his eyes and sees me examining him.

“What are looking at, Numb Nuts?” he says.

Still the asshole. I shake my head.

“Nothing, Doug. Hope you have a good summer. See you next year!”

I think about what else Miss Palomar has told me to do: discover things, make art, and travel. I can check off those items. I love to look at the stars and planets through my telescope. I like to write stories. I look forward to going on family road trips.

At the moment, though, I’m not going anywhere. Trapped here with my fellow students, this classroom feels like a birdcage. Like eager young robins, we all crane our necks to watch the plodding clock. It’s 3 o’clock. Twelve minutes to go!

Perhaps knowing that her time is running out, and that she will no longer be able to advise us, Miss Palomar has some final words of inspiration. She stands in front of her desk and leans against it.

“On our last day together, I want to leave you with these words: ‘Keep your eyes on the stars but remember to keep your feet on the ground.’

“President Theodore Roosevelt said those words about 100 years ago. They are still important words. He explained them by adding, ‘Live up to a high ideal. Have ideals that you can reach. Never fall short of what you actually can do.’

“So, boys and girls — soon to be young men and women — I want you all to have high ideals — goals that may seem to be as high as the stars in the sky. But as you are chasing those stars, don’t miss the opportunities that may come along to help you achieve those goals. Those opportunities may cause you to stumble. They may cause you to focus on more mundane matters. But the stars are always up there, waiting for you.

“Always look up, but it’s okay to trip now and then. Know your strengths and your passions — and your limitations. … Make bold choices, seek great adventures, make your dreams and wishes come true. But you also must be faithful and factual to the truth about you. Some of you will be rich; some of you will not be. Some of you will be great athletes; most of you will not be.”

Kendall, who is a jock, sits up and flexes his muscles. Everyone laughs. Miss Palomar, smiling, shakes her head and continues.

“Some of you will make startling discoveries about the world — and all of you will discover things about yourselves. But the most important thing you can be is a true, honest person, a friend to all you meet, as well as a friend to yourself. …  Help others attain their goals. Pick someone up who has stumbled. Be somebody’s hero!”

Just then, the bell rings. We all whoop and holler as we dash out of the classroom for the last time. Miss Palomar, who has guided us for the past year, smiles at us all, and watches us leave. She has one last bit of instruction. She shouts, “Be extraordinary!”

As I reach the door, I put my hand on the frame. I turn and give her a wave. She waves back. I’m going to miss her.

 

*  *  *

 

I join my classmates in the mass dispersal. We run around the playground before heading home, laughing and saying our goodbyes.

And now, it’s …

“Summertime! … and the living is easy …”

Those are the first words of a song that we have been practicing in the school district’s elementary band. We will continue to practice it every Wednesday this summer. We’re going to play it in the Cowboy Parade at this year’s Sunflower Days Festival. The song fits my plans for the season. My summer is definitely going “to be easy.” I’ll “rise up in the morning, spread my wings and take to the sky.”

As I indicated in my essay, my summer plans are exciting. Kendall and I will ride our bikes all over town — to the fairgrounds, to the dam, to the park. We will go camping. We will go swimming. We will go everywhere and do everything. Our parents have finally loosened our leashes. We have more freedom to roam around our little town — to a certain extent.

 

*  *  *

 

I get home at the same time as Mama. She has a part-time job at the bank, and her shift ends in the early afternoon.

“Must be nice to have banker’s hours,” Dad has teased.

She and I both get a glass of iced tea and sit down at the kitchen table. We do this every day, and it’s a nice time. In the past, we have had some good chats.

“Are you happy that school is out?” Mama asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll miss it a little bit. But I’m ready for summer!”

“What are you going to miss?” she asks.

“Oh, my teacher, my friends —”

“Your girlfriend?” she asks with her eyebrows raised.

“I don’t have a girlfriend!” I exclaim.

“What about Mindy?” she says. “I thought you liked her. Didn’t you once get into a fight over her?”

“Oh, sort of. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Hmm. Okay …”

We fall into an awkward silence. I sip from my glass of iced tea and look at Mama. She has recently gotten a bit too interested in whether I have a love life. She constantly asks me about girls. “Who do I like?” and “Is so-and-so cute?” She seems to be eager for me to have a girlfriend. I feel indifferent about it. Girls are … interesting, I guess. Some of them are cute. Some of them say I’m cute. Paige Whitson enters my mind. She is definitely cute. Maybe I’ll ask her to go to Sunflower Days with me. But that’s a couple of months from now.

“Kendall and I are going to ride our bikes,” I say, putting down my empty glass.

“Hmm. You and he spend a lot of time together, don’t you?” she says.

“Yeah, he’s my best friend,” I answer.  

“Well, you just watch out,” she says. “Something about him, I just don’t like.”

“What?” I ask.

“Oh, he’s rude and not very polite,” she says. “I think he takes after his father.”

“Kendall is fine,” I say. “I’ve never seen him being rude.”

That’s a little white lie. Kendall revels in being rude and sarcastic. I smile to myself.

“Now, Riley, I know you expect to have fun this summer,” she says. “But there are some things you need to watch out for.”

“Like what?” I say.

“For starters, watch out for traffic. I know you are going to be tearing all over town on your bikes. Drivers don’t pay attention to boys on bicycles.”

“Okay, we’ll be careful,” I say. “What else?”

“I don’t want you spending all of your allowance on those comic books,” she orders.

“Aw, Mama!” I whine. “Those are my favorite things to read!”

“You can buy some, but as I said, don’t spend all your money on them.”

“Fine. What else?”

“Don’t talk to strangers. There are some shady characters downtown — bums and riffraff.”

“Bums and riffraff?” I exclaim. “Our town has riffraff?”

“Yes,” she answers. “Stay away from them.”

“Okay. I’ve known about stranger danger for years,” I say, while smirking. “Anything else?”

“I don’t want you riding all over town after dark,” she says. “Make sure you are home before the sun goes down.”

“Dun-dun-dun! … That sounds like something they would say in a horror movie,” I say.

“Well, just don’t get bitten by a werewolf,” Mama replies, smiling.

“A-roo-oo,” I howl.