The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry(42)

Billy Lieberman, who writes about wronged boy heroes who overcome supernatural and parental obstacles, says, “I don’t even get what’s supposed to have happened at the end? It’s confusing.”

“I think it’s ambiguous,” Mr. Balboni says. “Remember last week when we talked about ambiguity?”

Maggie Markakis, who is only in this elective because of a scheduling conflict involving math and debate, says she likes it, though she notes discrepancies in the financial elements of the stories.

Abner Shochet objects on multiple fronts: he doesn’t like stories in which characters lie (“I am so done with unreliable narrators”—the concept had been introduced to them two weeks ago), and worse, he thinks nothing happens. This doesn’t hurt Maya’s feelings because all of Abner’s stories end with the same twist: that everything had been a dream.

“Is there anything we liked about it?” Mr. Balboni asks.

“The grammar,” Sarah Pipp says.

John Furness says, “I liked how sad it was.” John has long brown eyelashes and a pop idol pompadour. He wrote a story about his grandmother’s hands that moved even hard-hearted Sarah Pipp to tears.

“Me too,” Mr. Balboni says. “As a reader, I responded to many of the things that you all objected to. I liked the somewhat formal style and the ambiguity. I disagree with the comment about the ‘unreliable narrators’—we may have to go over this concept again. I don’t believe the financial elements were handled badly either. All things considered, I think this, along with John’s story, ‘My Grandmother’s Hands,’ are the two best stories from class this semester, and they will be the Alicetown High School entries to the county story contest.”

Abner groans. “You didn’t say who wrote the other one.”

“Right, of course. It’s Maya. Round of applause for John and Maya.”

Maya tries not to look too pleased with herself.

“THAT’S AMAZING, RIGHT? Mr. Balboni picking us,” John says after class. He is following her to her locker, though Maya cannot say why.

“Yeah,” says Maya. “I liked your story.” She had liked his story, but she really wants to win. First prize is a $150 gift certificate to Amazon and a trophy.

“What would you buy if you won?” John asks.

“Not books. I have those from my dad.”

“You’re lucky,” John says. “I wish I lived in the bookstore.”

“I live above it, not in it, and it’s not that great.”

“I bet it is.”

He sweeps his brown hair out of his eyes. “My mom wants to know if you want to carpool to the ceremony.”

“But we just found out today,” Maya says.

“I know my mom. She always likes to carpool. Ask your dad.”

“The thing is, my dad will want to go, and he doesn’t drive. So probably, Dad’ll get my godmother or my godfather to drive us. And your mom will want to go, too. So I’m not sure if carpooling makes sense.” She feels like she’s been talking for about a half hour.

He smiles at her, which makes his pompadour bounce a little. “No problem. Maybe we could drive you somewhere else sometime?”

THE AWARD CEREMONY is held at a high school in Hyannis. Though it’s just a gymnasium (the scent of balls of both varieties is still palpable) and the ceremony hasn’t started yet, everyone speaks in hushed tones, like it’s church. Something important and literary is about to happen here.

Of the forty entries from the twenty high schools, only the top three stories will be read aloud. Maya has practiced reading her story for John Furness. He recommended that she breathe more and slow down. She has been practicing breathing and reading, which are not as easy to do as one might think. She had listened to him read, too. Her advice to him was to use his normal voice. He had been doing this fake-y, newscaster thing. “You know you love it,” he had said. Now he talks to her in the fake voice all the time. It’s so annoying.

Maya sees Mr. Balboni talking to a person who can only be a teacher from another school. She is wearing teacher clothes—a floral dress and a beige cardigan with snowflakes embroidered on it, and she is nodding adamantly at whatever Mr. Balboni is saying. Of course, Mr. Balboni is wearing his leather pants, and because he is out, a leather jacket—basically, a leather suit. Maya wants to take him to meet her father, because she wants A.J. to hear Mr. Balboni praise her. The balance is that she doesn’t want A.J. to be embarrassing. She had introduced A.J. to her English teacher, Mrs. Smythe, at the store last month, and A.J. had pressed a book into the teacher’s hands saying, “You’ll love this novel. It’s exquisitely erotic.” Maya had wanted to die.

A.J. is wearing a tie, and Maya jeans. She had put on a dress that Amelia had chosen for her but decided that the dress made it seem like she cared too much. Amelia, who is in Providence this week, is meeting them there, but she’ll probably run late. Maya knows she’ll be sad about the dress.

A baton is tapped on the podium. The teacher in the snowflake sweater welcomes them to the Island County High School Short-Story Contest. She praises the entries for having been a particularly diverse and moving group. She says she loves her job and wishes everyone could win, and then she announces the first finalist.

Of course, John Furness would be a finalist. Maya sits back in her chair and listens. The story is better than she remembers. She likes the description of the grandmother’s hands like tissue paper. She looks at A.J. to see how it is playing with him. He has a distant look in the eyes, which Maya recognizes as boredom.