big brother, you could walk me down the aisle.”
He meant the aisle in the auditorium atRoosevelt Elementary. Years ago somebody decided that we’re always celebrating endings (graduations) and never the beginning. So now there’s a ceremony each September for all the little kids about to enter first grade. It’s called First Day. Each little kid walks down the aisle to the stage holding the hand of a big kid. The ideal is for the big kid to be a brother or sister who’s in twelfth grade. But any big kid will do. Sibling. Cousin. Friend. Parents and grandparents get all weepy. I guess I’ll have to go down the aisle with my sister, but I’m not exactly looking forward to it.
“Somebody will walk you down, Korbet,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
Neither of us spoke for a while. The shock pad was snug. I was tightening the last of the nuts when he said, “I love you, Will.”
Where did that come from? What do I say? “I love you, too, Korbet”? “Back at ya, Korbet”? “Thanks, Korbet”? I stared at the wrench, blinking. Time passed. And then it hit me: he didn’t need an answer. Probably didn’t expect one. I swung my eyes from thewrench to his face, and I saw I was right. I smiled. He smiled.
Suddenly I wanted to talk.
“Korbet?”
His eyes fixed on mine. “Huh?”
“Korbet…you don’t think Tabby likes you back, do you?”
He wagged his head wildly. “No way!”
“But you still like her.”
“Yep.”
“Do you think she’ll ever start liking you?”
“Yep.”
“When?”
He thought about it, dug into his ear, looked at the sky, looked at me. “Next year.”
I bit my lip.
“Do you think about her a lot?”
He beamed. “Yeah. Lots!”
“When you’re playing?”
“Yeah!”
“When you’re eating?”
“Yeah!”
“When you’re washing your feet?”
“Yeah!”
He doubled over laughing.
“So, Korbet…are you ever, like, timid around her?”
“What’s timid?”
“Never mind. What about scared?”
He looked puzzled. “Huh?”
“Are you ever scared of her?”
He mulled that for a moment, then laughed. “Hey, Will, you’re funnin’ me. Tabby’s not scary.”
“Yeah, just funnin’,” I said. “But, you know, like, sometimes she’s not real nice to you? Like she hollers at you or shuts the door in your face?”
“Yeah?”
“So…how’s that make you feel?”
He was puzzled again. “What do you mean, Will?”
“Does it make you sad? Upset?”
He thought hard. He said, “It makes me sad for two seconds. Then I love her again.”
Double wow.
“And when you think of her playing with other little boys, do you get jealous?”
Korbet’s eyes slid past me, focused on something else. He smiled hugely, waved.There was a beep behind me. Our car pulled into the driveway. Mom, Dad and Tabby spilled out.
“Hi, Korbet,” said my mom.
“Hi, Korbet,” said my dad. He tousled Korbet’s hair as he went by.
“Hi, Tabby,” said Korbet. Tabby said nothing. She didn’t even look at him. She shot him her tongue out of the side of her mouth and scooted on past him and into the house.
I looked at Korbet. He didn’t seem devastated. Those two seconds had already passed. He said, “What’s jealous?”
PD187
M i-Su is nice to me. She smiles at me all the time. Such a nice smile. She’s nice to me in algebra. She’s nice to me in Spanish. She’s nice to me in English. She’s nice in the hallways and the lunchroom and before school and after school and on the weekends and Saturday-night Monopoly. Nice. Nice. Nice. Ihate nice. So what do I want? I don’t know. But I don’t want nice.
PD191
plink
plink
plink
What?
I opened my eyes. Smooth, brown, plastic surface. My wastebasket. Sitting by my pillow. Tabby. Grinning. Dropping black jelly beans. One by one. Into the basket.
plink
I moved. She ran screaming from my room. The basket toppled to the floor. Clatter! Jelly beans rolled under the bed. Dad called, “What’s going on?” Tabby
He meant the aisle in the auditorium atRoosevelt Elementary. Years ago somebody decided that we’re always celebrating endings (graduations) and never the beginning. So now there’s a ceremony each September for all the little kids about to enter first grade. It’s called First Day. Each little kid walks down the aisle to the stage holding the hand of a big kid. The ideal is for the big kid to be a brother or sister who’s in twelfth grade. But any big kid will do. Sibling. Cousin. Friend. Parents and grandparents get all weepy. I guess I’ll have to go down the aisle with my sister, but I’m not exactly looking forward to it.
“Somebody will walk you down, Korbet,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
Neither of us spoke for a while. The shock pad was snug. I was tightening the last of the nuts when he said, “I love you, Will.”
Where did that come from? What do I say? “I love you, too, Korbet”? “Back at ya, Korbet”? “Thanks, Korbet”? I stared at the wrench, blinking. Time passed. And then it hit me: he didn’t need an answer. Probably didn’t expect one. I swung my eyes from thewrench to his face, and I saw I was right. I smiled. He smiled.
Suddenly I wanted to talk.
“Korbet?”
His eyes fixed on mine. “Huh?”
“Korbet…you don’t think Tabby likes you back, do you?”
He wagged his head wildly. “No way!”
“But you still like her.”
“Yep.”
“Do you think she’ll ever start liking you?”
“Yep.”
“When?”
He thought about it, dug into his ear, looked at the sky, looked at me. “Next year.”
I bit my lip.
“Do you think about her a lot?”
He beamed. “Yeah. Lots!”
“When you’re playing?”
“Yeah!”
“When you’re eating?”
“Yeah!”
“When you’re washing your feet?”
“Yeah!”
He doubled over laughing.
“So, Korbet…are you ever, like, timid around her?”
“What’s timid?”
“Never mind. What about scared?”
He looked puzzled. “Huh?”
“Are you ever scared of her?”
He mulled that for a moment, then laughed. “Hey, Will, you’re funnin’ me. Tabby’s not scary.”
“Yeah, just funnin’,” I said. “But, you know, like, sometimes she’s not real nice to you? Like she hollers at you or shuts the door in your face?”
“Yeah?”
“So…how’s that make you feel?”
He was puzzled again. “What do you mean, Will?”
“Does it make you sad? Upset?”
He thought hard. He said, “It makes me sad for two seconds. Then I love her again.”
Double wow.
“And when you think of her playing with other little boys, do you get jealous?”
Korbet’s eyes slid past me, focused on something else. He smiled hugely, waved.There was a beep behind me. Our car pulled into the driveway. Mom, Dad and Tabby spilled out.
“Hi, Korbet,” said my mom.
“Hi, Korbet,” said my dad. He tousled Korbet’s hair as he went by.
“Hi, Tabby,” said Korbet. Tabby said nothing. She didn’t even look at him. She shot him her tongue out of the side of her mouth and scooted on past him and into the house.
I looked at Korbet. He didn’t seem devastated. Those two seconds had already passed. He said, “What’s jealous?”
PD187
M i-Su is nice to me. She smiles at me all the time. Such a nice smile. She’s nice to me in algebra. She’s nice to me in Spanish. She’s nice to me in English. She’s nice in the hallways and the lunchroom and before school and after school and on the weekends and Saturday-night Monopoly. Nice. Nice. Nice. Ihate nice. So what do I want? I don’t know. But I don’t want nice.
PD191
plink
plink
plink
What?
I opened my eyes. Smooth, brown, plastic surface. My wastebasket. Sitting by my pillow. Tabby. Grinning. Dropping black jelly beans. One by one. Into the basket.
plink
I moved. She ran screaming from my room. The basket toppled to the floor. Clatter! Jelly beans rolled under the bed. Dad called, “What’s going on?” Tabby
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