See You at Harry's(18)

Today Mrs. Dribble has a thermos on her desk that she sips from almost exactly every two minutes. Mrs. Dribble is also known for screaming at you if you talk during study hall, so everyone is very quiet. You can practically hear the electric clock slowly buzzing the second hand forward. I count down the minutes until I will be sitting on the bus with the Things. Twenty-seven. I look over at Ran, who is writing something fast and furious in his tiny journal. He calls it his idea book. He must have a pretty good one.

Cassie sits behind him reading her social studies book and taking notes. Every so often she leans forward as if she’s trying to look over Ran’s shoulder and read from his journal. I’m sure Ran notices, which is another reason Cassie is doomed when it comes to her chances with him.

I try to concentrate on my geometry homework for a while, but the numbers blur together. I switch to English, but I keep reading the same paragraph over and over again. I stare at the clock. I swear the minute hand is moving backward. I watch Mrs. Dribble take a sip from her thermos and wonder what’s in there that makes her smile just a tiny bit after every sip.

Twelve minutes.

When the bell finally rings, I nearly get trampled as everyone makes a run for the door. The halls are so crowded, I can barely make my way to my locker.

“Are you taking the bus?” Ran asks as we move along in the sea of students toward the pickup area.

I nod.

“Be strong,” he says, and lets himself get pushed along to his own bus line. “All will be well!” he yells to me as he’s carried away.

I look around for Holden, but I don’t see him anywhere. The Things are at the front of the line, pushing each other.

Someone grabs my arm and pulls me out of the line.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Holden pulls me backward until we’re free from the crowd. A guy in a black Volkswagen Bug rolls down his window when we get to the parking lot.

“Hey,” he says.

“This is my little sister. Can we drop her off at my parents’ restaurant?”

“No problem,” the guy says.

Holden opens the door and tilts the seat up for me. The car smells like Sara’s bedroom. Like incense but like cigarettes, too. As we pull out of the parking lot, the guy turns around. He looks a lot older than Holden.

“I’m Gray,” he says.

“Fern.”

“Cool name. Like the plant?”

“Like the girl. In Charlotte’s Web.” My cheeks burn.

“The movie?”

“The book.”

“Dude,” he says to Holden. “Your parents are whacked. Did they name all of you after book characters?”

“They’re kind of eccentric,” Holden says quietly.

“That’s so cool. Too bad you got named after that depressed kid, though.”

“Yeah,” Holden says. “Tell me about it.”

“You got a good one, though,” he says to me. “A pig saver!”

Terrific.

I try to smile, but some things you can’t force.

“Although . . .” Gray says, “if I remember correctly, it’s really that spider who saves the pig. In the end, I mean.”

“Fern saves him first,” Holden says.

“Riiiight.” Gray turns up the volume and nods his head to the music. Holden copies him. I look out the window.

Fern. What kind of a lame name is that? What were my parents thinking, naming me after a kid whose only friend was a pig marked for death?

At the restaurant, Gray pulls up near the front door, and Holden leans forward with the seat to let me out. “See you later,” he says. He has the glow again.

“Thanks for the ride,” I tell Gray.

“No prob.” He’s still tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, even though he turned off the music.

After they drive off, I stand in front of the restaurant and look up at the huge Harry’s sign towering over me. I never actually met the real Harry, my grandfather. My grandparents died just two months apart. My grandmother died first from cancer and then my grandfather from a heart attack. My mom says it was really a broken heart. We used to have a bunch of photos of them hanging in the restaurant, but that caused confusion once my dad started letting on that he was Harry. People wanted to know who the old couple was, and that meant my dad would have to admit he was a big fake. Sometimes I wonder if my mom sees my dad as a phony the way the Holden in her favorite book sees other people. I hope not.

I notice my reflection in the huge window in front of the restaurant. I look like a stranger standing here. I look small.

A tiny head pops up at the bottom of the window from inside. It has bushy brown hair. A little hand spreads across the glass and waves slowly.

I smile and wave back.

Inside, the restaurant’s familiar sweet and greasy smell wraps around me. Charlie is sitting at the table under the window with Doll. Doll’s hair has been twisted into dreadlocks and dyed green. Charlie must have fallen asleep with his face against her because the side of his cheek is green, too.

“Where’s Mom?” I ask, looking around at the empty dining room. The restaurant is still pretty dead during the lull between lunch and the rush of the early-bird special at dinner. I sit across from Charlie at the Formica table. My dad bought the tables from different diners that were going out of business. He thinks people like to be reminded of old-fashioned diners. He says things that make people nostalgic make them happy. The booth seats are red vinyl, and you have to be careful if you sit on them wearing shorts or you’ll leave a layer of skin when you get up. At least it feels that way.