And Don't Bring Jeremy

The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

Previously published in print, 1985.

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Also by Marilyn Levinson and Untreed Reads Publishing

I’m Getting Married

http://www.untreedreads.com

And Don’t Bring Jeremy

Marilyn Levinson

To my sons, David and Michael and to Roberta Gellis
…
writer, teacher, and friend.

FOREWORD

Almost thirty years have passed since I began writing
And Don’t Bring Jeremy
. At the time my two sons were in elementary school, and most of you reading the novel for the first time weren’t even born. Life was a bit different in the eighties. The Electronic Age was just starting. Computers were here, but not everyone had one. And no one walked around with a bluetooth in one ear, or with a smartphone or tablet glued to their hands.

Most other things haven’t changed since
And Don’t Bring Jeremy
was first published. These days many, many kids have special needs. Some are neurologically impaired like Jeremy. Others have Asperger’s Syndrome. Still others have physical disabilities or need to cope with a severe allergy. The list goes on. Kids with special needs often require assistance to get through the day. They’re different, which sometimes makes them a target for bullies like Eddie—kids who make fun of people in order to feel good about themselves.

While
And Don’t Bring Jeremy
is a work of fiction, the essence of the book was inspired by my own family. Though neurologically impaired, Jeremy has terrific strengths, which his brother finally learns to appreciate. I’m delighted to say the real Jeremy continues to lead a happy and productive life.

Marilyn Levinson

November 2012

CHAPTER
1

“Come on, on, Adam. Throw another fastball. Right over the plate.”

For the eightieth time that afternoon I stared at Eddie Gordon, trying to figure out why he was suddenly acting so friendly and nice. Eddie was in seventh grade, a year ahead of me, and the best player on our Little League team. He was lots of fun to be with, someone I’d hoped to have as a friend, but up until a few days ago he’d always acted as if he didn’t even know I existed.

His small, wiry frame crouched behind home plate. He shook his head of kinky red hair that reminded me of Raggedy Andy—not that I’d ever tell him so. “Come on,” he shouted impatiently. “What are you waiting for?”

That was more like him. Eddie was generous, but, boy, could he fly off the handle. Winding up, I forgot about Eddie and concentrated on his outstretched mitt. I pictured the batter standing before him, fixing where his knees and shoulders should be. I let the ball go. It smacked into the waiting mitt.

“Strike!” Eddie called. “That’s the sixth in a row,” he
added, grinning as though he’d thrown them himself.

I nodded and held back my grin. I’d been in enough neighborhood ball games with Eddie in these few months since we’d moved to Glen Haven to know better than to let him see me get excited. He’d only make fun and tell me to stop showing off, like I’d seen him do to other kids. Or worse, he’d think I was trying to take over his position as starting pitcher on our baseball team.

“Go for another strike,” Eddie yelled, tossing the ball back to me.

I wound up and threw another fastball.

“Another one! Jeez. Dad better let you pitch tomorrow. Just keep this up and we’ll cream those Lawson Cleaners.”

I refused to get carried away by Eddie’s enthusiasm. He had a habit of building things up and getting real upset when they didn’t work out.

“That’ll be pretty hard to do. They won two out of two games so far,” I reminded him. “I hear they have great hitters and fantastic fielding.” I glanced away to the low brick elementary school I’d been attending for the last three months, hoping I hadn’t gone too far.

“Yeah, well let me tell you something,” Eddie said, sauntering over to me. “My father said last night that with you and me pitching, Mark and Danny on second and third, and Richie catching, we have a good chance of winning tomorrow.”

So I definitely was going to pitch in tomorrow’s game! Fantastic! Although pitchers in our division were allowed to pitch all six innings, Mr. Gordon liked using two pitchers, for three innings each. Last week he’d let me pitch during the last inning, after Jeff walked three men in a
row. I did pretty well, too, giving up a walk, then striking out two men. But I decided to play it modest.

“Won’t your father put Jeff in to pitch ahead of me? I mean, he’s in seventh grade.”

Eddie shrugged his shoulders. “He’ll pitch, too, I guess. But Dad thinks you’re better.”

I couldn’t help grinning. “We sure did great last week, with your home run and Mark’s double.”

“Yeah, and we would have won the first game, too, if Jeremy hadn’t thrown that ball wild to third base instead of home.”

I bit my lip. Eddie’s voice turned mean when he mentioned my brother.

“Yeah, well,” I began, not knowing what I was about to say. That Jeremy had even gotten his hands on the ball was pretty amazing. “I guess it wasn’t too smart.”

I squirmed and looked down at my sneakers. The right laces were untied. I kneeled down to tie them, feeling my face turn red.

“Why did Jeremy bother to sign up for Little League?” Eddie persisted. “He couldn’t care less about baseball. All he does is take up space in the outfield.”

Here I was again, having to explain Jeremy. “My mom thought it would be good for him,” I mumbled. I didn’t want to get up and see Eddie’s freckled face, which turned as red as his hair when he got angry, but I felt foolish hunched over my sneaker. Forget it. I stood up. I mean, I wasn’t responsible for Jeremy, was I?

“Yeah, well, he isn’t doing our team any good. He never even gets a walk because he swings at every ball they throw him, without coming within ten feet of touching it.”

Eddie must have seen me wince because suddenly he was apologizing. “Sorry, Adam,” he said gruffly. “It’s not
your
fault.”

I shrugged, but Eddie could see that I was hurt.

“At least one member of the Krasner family is a great baseball player,” he said. “Get your bat and hit a few. Too bad Mark and Danny couldn’t make it today.”

I was sorry, too. Mark was in seventh grade like Eddie and Jeremy. His cousin Danny Martin was in my class. They were both nice kids, always laughing and clowning around without going too far. And they never made jokes about Jeremy like Eddie sometimes did—not that I blamed him at times. Jeremy was hard to take.

I reached for the new metal bat Dad bought me the week before and stood ready. Eddie wound up, then stared at something in the parking lot behind me. He dropped the ball.

“Oh, no,” he said, disgusted. “Look who’s coming.”

I turned and saw Jeremy loping toward us, his head down as usual. He was the last person I wanted to see right then. He stopped in front of me, panting.

“Mom wants you home now. Your orthodontist appointment’s in half an hour. ’Lo, Eddie.”

Eddie barely lifted his hand, not bothering to hide his dislike.

I’d forgotten all about the appointment, but for some reason or other I just stood there. I didn’t feel like running home just because Jeremy said I should.

“Come on,” he scolded. “Mom said to hurry.”

“In a minute,” I snapped. “Go on home. I’ll be right there.”

Jeremy looked uncertain, as he always did when I yelled at him. It made me sorry that I had. After all, he
was
older. And he was never mean or nasty. Only annoying and immature—and not really good at anything.

I put my hand on his arm. “Go on, I’ll be right there.”

I smiled and he smiled back. Then he turned around and took off in his funny way—half-running, half-walking, as though he were limping. I felt bad for him, sticking out like a sore thumb in everything he did. All because of something that went wrong when he was born. But I felt bad for me, too—always afraid the other kids wouldn’t want to be friendly with me once they found out I was Jeremy’s brother.

I reached down for my mitt. “Guess I better go. See you tomorrow. At the game.”

“I better get going, too,” Eddie said, probably not wanting to be the only one left. “In case Dad comes home from work early. He’s taking me to buy a new mitt.”

“That’s great,” I said. I hooked my mitt onto the handlebars of my bicycle, then lay the bat across. “See you at the field. One-fifteen, right?” I kicked up the kickstand, ready to go.

“Adam?”

I turned around to see what Eddie wanted.

“We—Mark and Danny and me—well, we were thinking of going out for pizza before the game tomorrow. At Gino’s. Want to come?”

“Sure, why not? I’ll check with my mom and let you know.” I shrugged my shoulders, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that just took hold of me. What was wrong?

“Great. Meet us there at twelve. Bring your bicycle. Then we’ll ride over to the field early and practice before the rest of the team comes.”

I suddenly knew. “All right.” In spite of myself, Mom’s drilling me to try to include Jeremy whenever I could won out. “But is it all right if I—”

“And Adam—” His voice cut across my question.

“Hmm?”

“And don’t bring Jeremy. Okay?”

CHAPTER
2

“Why can’t I go, too?” Jeremy asked. As usual he was chewing with his lips open so I had to see his mashed-up chicken. It was disgusting.

“Ick,” I said. “Close your mouth when you eat. I told you, you weren’t invited.”

“But I’m on the team.” He started to whine. “They should have invited me, too.”

Thank God Dad took over. “Look, Jeremy, we’ve been through this before. We go someplace only when we’ve been invited to go. You know that.”

Jeremy sniffed and ate his chicken. I took a bite of mine. No one said a word.

“Adam,” my mother said two minutes later, “you’re not eating your squash.”

I knew she’d say something. Anything. Mom couldn’t stand silence at the dinner table—thought it was unnatural. Also, she was probably annoyed with me for not bringing Jeremy along for lunch tomorrow.

“I know,” I answered. “I don’t like squash.”

“But you said you’d try it tonight.”

“Only because you nagged.”

“That’s enough, Adam,” Dad said sternly.

“Sorry, Dad, but she knows I hate squash.”

“I want to go for pizza, too,” Jeremy said loudly. “Adam always gets to go to parties and sleepovers and I don’t. It isn’t fair.”