The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell(23)

I pulled open the passenger door, slid in, and buckled my seat belt without being reminded. “Hi, Mom. Ready to go.”

“How was school?”

“It was good. Can we go?”

“Did you finish your lunch?” She unsnapped my lunch box and flipped open the lid. I looked to my right but did not see David Bateman descending the stairs. “You didn’t eat your apple slices again.”

I leaned over and glanced inside. “I must have forgot.” I quickly turned to the school and saw David Bateman on the top step, searching for me.

“You must have forgotten,” my mother corrected. “You have to eat your fruit and vegetables or I won’t put in any more Hostess.”

“I will, Mom.”

She reached into her purse, giving me another opportunity to consider Bateman. This time we made eye contact. God knows now what possessed me, but safe within the Falcon, my mother seated close beside me, I lost my mind and stuck out my tongue.

“Sam, I need you to take this form up to Sister Kathleen.” My mother had pulled a slip of paper from her purse. “I forgot to put it in your lunch box this morning. It’s the permission slip for your field trip to the zoo next week. Sam?”

I stared at the permission slip, signed at the bottom in my mother’s flowing handwriting. “I can’t,” I said.

“Why not?”

“I . . . I think I’m sick.”

“Sick?”

It wasn’t an outright lie. At that moment, I very much felt as though I could vomit. “I haven’t felt good since lunch. I think I might puke.”

“We don’t say ‘puke,’ Samuel. We say ‘vomit.’”

“I think I might vomit,” I quickly said.

“Is that why you didn’t eat your apples?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“I, uh, I forgot.”

My mother put her hand to my forehead. “You do feel a bit warm.” Her hand slid to the glands beneath my jaw and to the back of my neck. “And your neck is clammy.”

“I can turn it in next week. Let’s go home.”

My mother sighed. “I better do it before I forget again.” She turned, reaching for the door handle.

“No!”

She looked back to me. “It will only take a minute.”

“I think I might vomit.”

“That bad?”

I threw my head back against the seat and moaned.

“But if I don’t get it in today, you won’t be able to go to the zoo.”

Now this was a dilemma. I very much wanted to go to the zoo, but I also very much did not want David Bateman to kill me. I looked back to the stairs. Bateman had vanished. I searched up and down the street but saw no sign of him. “I’m better now,” I said. “I think I’m okay.”

Her brow furrowed. She removed her sunglasses. “You’re sure?”

“I think maybe it was just gas.” I belched, loud and long, which I could do on cue if I sucked in enough air.

“Samuel Hill,” my mother said.

“Sorry, Mom, but I feel a lot better.”

“Just don’t make a habit of it.” She slid out the driver’s side and jogged around the back of the car. I didn’t take my eyes off her until she’d ascended the stairs and disappeared into the quad. When I turned back, David Bateman had his face pressed against my window. I screamed and tried to retreat across the seat, but the seat belt, tight across my lap, prevented me from moving. The best I could do was lie flat, with Bateman reaching over the top of the window and grabbing at air.

“I’m going to kill you, Devil Boy,” he said. “I’m going to flush your head down the toilet. Then I’m going to kill you.” He glanced up at the top steps, backing away with a sneer, and disappeared around the corner of the building.

My mother slipped back behind the wheel and did a double take, her sunglasses still atop her scarfed head. “Are you sure you’re feeling better? You’re pale as a ghost.”

“I feel sick again,” I said.

She grimaced. “I was hoping to take the car to Eddy’s for an oil change. I’m five hundred miles overdue, and your father’s been after me.”

Eddy’s? I immediately perked up. “I’m fine,” I said and let out another belch. “Sorry, Mom.”





5

Other than my father’s pharmacy, Fast Eddy’s Chevron station at the end of Broadway Avenue was my favorite place to visit. Eddy let me in the service area to watch the mechanics raise and lower the cars on the hydraulic lifts, and he would point out the various parts of the engine. He said I was a quick learner and hoped someday I would work for him. What I really liked, though, was at the end of every visit, Eddy allowed me to pull a Tootsie Pop from the jar on the counter. My mother made me save the treat until after dinner, but that just made it all the more special.

Eddy greeted us in his grease-stained blue coveralls. “What will it be this time, Mrs. H?”

“I’m overdue for an oil change, Eddy. Max’s been after me for two weeks. I was hoping you might squeeze me in.”

“I can always fit you in, Mrs. H—you know that. You’re one of my best customers.” He turned and surveyed his garage. “Put it in the second bay, and I’ll have Ron get started on it.”