From Ant to Eagle(23)

Sammy already had his backpack on, even though the bus wouldn’t be there for another hour and it looked like he hadn’t taken more than a couple bites of his cereal.

“You ready for today?” I asked, sitting down beside him. Mom had put a bowl of cereal out for me but had forgotten a spoon so I grabbed Sammy’s—he was done anyway.

Sammy nodded.

I took a big bite of my cereal then proceeded to talk with my mouth full. “Don’t worry,” I said, as milk dripped to the table. “Grade two is a breeze. All you have to do is read, like, one book or something and you pass.”

Sammy didn’t seem relieved.

“They’re easy books. Not like Goosebumps or anything. You’ll be fine.”

Dad put down his paper. “And don’t forget that they have allyou-can-eat gumball machines and a servant that walks around to your desks and says, ‘Can I get you some more gumballs, good sir?’”

Sammy smiled. “No, they don’t,” he said, then glanced at me to make sure Dad was joking.

“Not gumball machines—ice cream machines,” I said, joining in. “With every flavour you could possibly imagine and a little tube that sticks out of your desk so you can just suck it back while you listen to the teacher.”

“And flying carpets for chairs,” Dad said.

“All right, enough, you two,” Mom interjected. “We don’t want him showing up on his first day asking where the ice cream machines are.”

“I know they’re joking,” Sammy said. He was smiling and his nervous look was gone.

After breakfast, Sammy and I waited by the front door for the bus. When we saw it coming down the road, I bolted only to hear Mom yell, “Calvin, get back here!”

I stopped, turned around, went back and gave her a quick hug. I was about to start running again when I remembered our conversation from earlier. I waited for Sammy to give her a hug too—which was very long and drawn out—then grabbed his hand and started to walk down the driveway. I knew Mom would appreciate the handhold.

When we got on the bus, it was mostly empty and I walked down the aisle and took a seat somewhere in the middle. Sammy followed and sat down next to me, hugging his backpack and not saying a word.

The very next stop was Aleta’s house and as we turned onto Thornton Road I saw her standing next to Raquel at the end of their driveway. She was wearing a long, black pea coat and her hair was neatly pulled up into a ponytail. Her shoes looked shiny and new and she wasn’t wearing a backpack, but rather, a leather satchel thing that hung over one shoulder. She looked really proper and fashionable—not like the other kids we would be picking up.

“Sammy, move over,” I said, giving him a little shove and pointing across the aisle to another empty seat.

He looked confused, then looked out the window at Aleta, then back at me, then got up and moved across the aisle without arguing.

Aleta got on and looked nervously around. She reminded me of a cornered mouse as her eyes frantically darted around the bus.

“Aleta,” I said, giving a wave, “over here.”

She saw me and quickly made her way back and sat down next to me. She didn’t say a word and I knew from her body language she wasn’t interested in talking. As the bus continued along the road and more nervous kids got on, I quietly whispered who they were and whether they were nice or funny or annoying or whatever else I could think to tell Aleta.

A few stops later, we pulled up to a small, rundown farmhouse with a cluttered lawn and two figures hunched by the road. One was kneeling behind the other rummaging through a backpack. Behind the screen door, I saw the silhouette of a man smoking. The two figures by the road looked back and gave the briefest of waves before climbing on the bus. The man in the doorway didn’t wave back but watched for a moment longer before opening the screen door to throw out his cigarette then heading back inside. I knew this house well and never looked forward to the stop.

Tom and Joey walked down the aisle with mischievous grins. They climbed into the seat in front of Aleta and me, facing backwards despite my attempt to avoid eye contact. Their faces were dirty and it was apparent they hadn’t bathed in a while.

“I seen you in church,” Tom declared as he stared at Aleta. I could feel her discomfort as she looked down at her feet. “What’s your name?”

Aleta didn’t answer. Instead she continued to look down. I knew this would only antagonize Tom and he leaned in closer, the smell of cigarettes on his jacket suffocating us in our seat. I felt a rapidly developing situation in which I’d probably have to do something when Joey yelled, “Wow, Pudge lost weight!” from across the aisle.

Tom looked over to find Sammy slouched down low in his seat, trying to go unnoticed.

He moved across the aisle and joined his brother. “Did he ever!” he said, his voice intentionally loud as to attract the attention of the entire bus. “What, your family can’t feed ya or some’n?”

Tom got a few laughs from around the bus at this. It was ironic because everyone knew the Rileys were dirt poor. I stayed quiet. The less you said, the less they bothered you—for the most part. “You know we still gonna call you Pudge, right? ’Cept now maybe we’ll call ya Twiggy Pudge.”

More laughs.

Tom and Joey continued picking on Sammy for a while before getting bored and moving on to some other kid. Our school went to grade six before kids moved across the road to junior high—grade seven and eight—and those kids had their own bus. That meant Tom—and I—were the oldest kids now, which meant there were no kids to tell Tom to shut up. By the time we’d arrived at the school, everyone had had enough of the Rileys.