From Ant to Eagle(11)

I looked at Aleta but she made no sign that she knew who I was talking about. She was still staring straight ahead but I could tell she was listening.

“I’ll point them out next Sunday. They’re the meanest kids in Huxbury and maybe even the meanest kids on the face of the earth. Tom will be in our class. Don’t worry though—you’ll learn to ignore him. Plus, I’ll be there to make sure he doesn’t bother you.”

Aleta smiled at this. It flashed quickly and then was gone, but it was definitely a smile.

From then on, things seemed a little bit lighter. We were still a few kilometres from Huxbury but Aleta didn’t look so nervous or angry or whatever it was anymore. She stopped staring rigidly ahead and started looking around over the cornfields with a sort of half-smile on her face. She reminded me of Sammy when he was in church trying not to laugh. Her lips were still tight but her eyes had little crinkles beside them that told me she was in a happy place.

Even I was beginning to appreciate the countryside. Sure we were surrounded by nothingness, but right then that nothingness meant we could ride down the middle of the road without having to worry about getting hit by a car or a truck. If we’d still lived in London, there’s no way we’d have been allowed to ride down the middle of the road.

We were about halfway to the school when we were torn from our peaceful daydreaming by the harsh sound of metal on gravel.

I turned around to find Sammy buckled over on the side of the road, his legs still wrapped around his bike that now lay on its side, wheels spinning in the air.

“What happened, Sammy?” I yelled, jumping off my bike and running back to where he lay.

When I first looked at him, his eyes had a vacant stare but then he blinked a few times and seemed to come around. He looked up at me with the confusion of someone who’d just fallen asleep on the couch. “What…what happened…” he whimpered.

“That’s what I just asked you,” I said.

Aleta bent down beside him. “You don’t look very well,” she said. “Maybe we should take a break and rest.” She reached out and touched him softly on the forehead. “You feel really hot.”

It was the first time I’d heard Aleta say more than two words strung together. Her voice was sing-songy, pretty with only a slight accent.

“Yeah, let’s take a break,” I agreed.

We pulled our bikes under a small maple at the side of the road and sat down to cool off. I didn’t say it, but I was worried—Sammy really didn’t look good. He was dusty white and beads of sweat were pouring down his face. I pulled out the water bottle he had packed in his knapsack and handed it to him.

“You feeling any better?” I asked.

“A…little…bit…” he said, words coming out between short gasps. He was still really out of breath and I was almost sure he wouldn’t be able to make it the rest of the way into Huxbury.

I looked around for a house to call Mom but we hadn’t passed a house in ages. All around us was just corn and more corn.

“We could probably make it into town,” I suggested, “it’s not that much further. Then we could call Mom and have her pick up Sammy.”

Aleta shook her head. “I think we should turn around.”

“I’m okay,” Sammy said, trying to stand up but looking wobbly.

Aleta was right—we needed to turn around.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll turn around.”

We pulled Sammy’s bike into the first row of the cornfield and lay it on its side so no one could see it from the road, then Aleta helped Sammy up onto my handlebars.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah, we used to do this all the time before Sammy got rid of his training wheels.”

It was the truth but when Sammy used to ride sitting on my handlebars, he was way lighter and way less groggy. It was a really slow, shaky ride home but I managed to get Sammy all the way back without falling.

I helped him into the kitchen and he practically sank into one of the kitchen chairs.

“Mom!” I yelled.

Mom came downstairs with a towel wrapped around her head—she’d evidently been in the shower.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, then she saw Sammy slumped over the table.

Mom may have been the stricter parent but when one of us was hurt or sick or sad, she was also the quickest with a hug. She asked what had happened and I explained in detail, or as much detail as I could, about how one moment we were riding our bikes and the next Sammy was lying in the dirt.

“Probably the heat,” she offered.

“Yeah, probably,” I agreed.

She looked him over for injuries and found only the dark bruises on his shoulder and now, a new set of bruises down his leg.

“Are these from today?” she asked.

Sammy wasn’t talking so I answered for him. “No, I think those are from yesterday. He cut his knee when he fell off his bike. That’s two falls in two days—maybe we need to put his training wheels back on.”

I looked back at Aleta who was still standing by the door to see if she’d found this funny but her eyes had a glassy appearance and she was staring intently at Mom and Sammy.

“You must be Aleta,” Mom said, looking across the room while she rubbed Sammy’s back. “I hear you and your family just moved to Huxbury. It’s nice to meet you.”