Blue Vengeance (6 page)

 

It was a late afternoon in early July, and Danny was in his backyard shooting at Campbell soup tins. He had placed the cans on the flat fence posts that ran alongside their empty lot next door. His mum had posted a
NO TRESPASSING
sign on it, back when she still did things.

Soup was one of the main things that Danny made for lunch and often again for supper. He prepared it in a small pot, sometimes with milk, sometimes with water, depending on the kind of soup. He had a favourite pot by now, one he had grown attached to. When the soup was hot he poured it into bowls, placed one on a tray along with a little pile of soda crackers, and took it in to his mother.

When she didn't eat hers, Danny threw it down the sink. He didn't want to eat anything that her spit might have touched. The soda crackers went back in the box.

He ate his soup in the kitchen with a piece of toast. He had started out making toast for his mum, but it usually went to waste, and that hadn't sat well with him. Wasted bread meant he had to go to the store more often.

She was most inclined to eat tomato soup. Danny could tell by her bowl that she even crumbled the soda crackers into it. That was something she used to do before Cookie died. So he made it regularly, even though it wasn't close to his favourite. It hurt his tongue. The ones he liked best were Scotch broth, which you made with water, and cheddar cheese, which you made with milk. He also made tomato soup with milk, so that was another thing he had to lay in regularly. But that was easy; the Spanish Court store had milk. It had bread too, but it wasn't as good as what he got at Dominion or the A&P.

He shot the cans off the fence posts one by one, then replaced them and did it again. Soon his mind began to wander, so he took a break and sat on the stoop. Wielders of slingshots shouldn't have wandering minds.

Russell sat with him.

A girl stood outside the gate. The girl he'd seen on the bus. He didn't know how long she had been there. She was a small girl, but older than Danny by two years. He knew that because she had been in Cookie's room at school. Her hands were pushed down into the front pockets of her jeans. She stared at him.

“Hi,” said Danny.

She didn't answer, but she came closer, right up to the gate.

“I was thinking,” she said.

“You were?”

“Yup.”

“Come on in,” he said. “I can hardly hear you.”

She came inside the yard and closed the gate behind her. She wore no shoes. Russell walked over slowly with her tail wagging, also slowly. The girl put her hand down for Russell to sniff. The dog did so.

The girl came closer.

“I'm Janine,” she said. “I was friends with Cookie. I was there the day you saw Hardass being mean to her.”

“I know who you are,” he said.

How could he forget? He sounded unfriendly to his own ears; he didn't mean to. Janine was the girl who had helped, and who he had seen on the bus reading the book that had
madding
in the title. And she said she was Cookie's friend. That was good news. He hadn't known Cookie to have any friends in the past couple of years. Since she started at Nelson Mac her old ones seemed to have drifted away.

Janine didn't mind his tone, not outwardly, anyway. She seemed the sort that didn't mind much, the sort that wouldn't let an incidental like an unfriendly tone get in the way.

“I was thinking you might want an assistant,” she said.

Russell circled her and sat down. The girl crouched and scratched her behind her ears.

“What do you mean? An assistant for what?”

“You know. For your slingshot practice and that.”

“Oh, jeez.”

“Don't worry.”

“I'm not worried,” he said. It was a lie.

Had his fame reached as far as girls who were way older than him, who should be thinking about makeup and garter belts?

 

The day she referred to was just three months ago when Cookie was still alive. Danny's teacher had asked the grade eight class who would like to take a message for the principal over to the high school. The hands of most of the kids had shot up, of course — anything to get out and taste freedom, however briefly. She picked Danny; he couldn't believe his luck. The message contained a list of all the grade eight kids from Nordale that would be heading over to the high school in the fall.

A few of the other kids chanted
teacher's pet
after him as he snatched his jacket off a hook in the cloakroom and dashed out the door. It was good-natured chanting, and Danny smiled to himself as he walked down Highfield with a spring in his step. The April wind was cool, but the sun was high enough and close enough to warm his face when he raised it skywards.

He left the list with the vice-principal, Mr. Calder, and was deciding which roundabout route he would take back to Nordale as he walked past the gymnasium on his way out.

The double doors to the gym were open, and he saw a class of girls lined up in their white shorts and blouses. He didn't see Cookie at first; she was out of his line of vision. When she appeared she was panting hard and her face was blood red. She was the only one running and she was barely able to keep putting one foot in front of the other. To Danny she looked like a person about to have a heart attack. And she was so thin. He hadn't seen her in shorts for a long time. When had she gotten so thin?

The rest of the class watched: some snickering, some with worry on their faces, some slack-jawed, some turning away in embarrassment. He wanted to mow them all down.

“Come on, cockroach,” Miss Hartley said. “If you can't run, crawl. Look at her, girls. Watch the stinky cockroach. Puke stink. I can smell it from here.”

Cookie looked close to collapse.

Danny hesitated for a second or two. Did he want all these beautiful awful girls to know that the feeblest person in the class was related to him? He made a beeline for her at the exact moment that Janine stepped away from the others and moved forward, calling out words of protest.

She got there first, and put her hand on Cookie's arm to slow her down and then stop her. Her legs folded beneath her and she crumpled to the floor.

“I can't do it,” she gasped, all bony and bruised.

Danny and Janine kneeled together, between Cookie and the teacher, who yelled at them to get out of her gymnasium and march right down to the office. They propped Cookie between them and walked her out of the gym and out the front door of the school. They sat on the grass, still brown and damp from winter, while Cookie caught her breath. No one followed, but Danny was ready for them if they did.

The three of them walked to the Blue house on Lyndale Drive. It was chilly despite the sun, and the girls in their gym wear weren't dressed for it. They stopped several times on the way; Cookie had trouble holding on to a breath once she caught it.

“You're gonna be in trouble on account of me,” she said.

“Trouble, shmouble,” said Danny.

“Do I stink?” she said.

“No, Cookie. You don't stink,” he said.

Cookie turned to Janine and pleaded with her eyes.

“No,” said Janine. “She stinks. She positively reeks.”

She left them at their gate.

Their mother didn't want to know.

“The teacher called her a stinky cockroach,” Danny said, after Cookie had gone upstairs. “She was the only one left running.”

He hadn't gotten into trouble, and neither had Janine. But not getting into trouble meant nothing. Miss Hartley was still there.

Danny insisted that his mum write a note to the school saying that Cookie had a hole in her heart that made her weak and fragile, and could she please be excused from phys ed for the rest of the year. And he planned to insist that she write another one when school started again in September. They all knew that wasn't the reason for her weakness, but it could have been.

 

“You look different,” Danny said to Janine now.

Her gaze was steady, steadier than Cookie's had been. Her eyes had often darted from side to side, as though looking for a way out. He wondered if Janine was sixteen yet. Cookie would have turned sixteen in August, if she weren't dead.

“I cut my hair off.”

“It looks nice,” he said. “It suits you.”

“Thanks.” She tugged at a strand next to her ear. “It could use a little evening up in spots.”

He didn't know where to take it from there. He wanted to ask her to sit down beside him on the stoop, but it seemed beyond him, so he stood up instead and stepped down onto the grass.

“You've got a good setup here.” Janine gestured towards the fence posts.

“Thanks. It works pretty well for me.”

“Well, what do you think?” she said. “About me helping, I mean.”

“I don't know.”

“It'd be good. I promise I won't be in your way.”

“Helpin' with what exactly?” He hadn't voiced his plan to anyone, not even Paul.

“With you becoming the best slingshot shooter in Canada.”

Her look faltered; she wasn't telling the truth, not the whole of it. Danny admired everything about her, even her lie.

“That's it?” he said.

“I've seen you on your bike. No hands. Once even blowing a bubble at the same time.”

He was so delighted she had seen it that he had to move, get his feet off the ground. Russell sensed the joy and behaved for a moment or two as though she was about to receive a snack.

“I'm not sure I need a helper.” He looked at her, met those steady eyes.

“You missed, didn't you?” she said.

The words hung in the air between them. Danny couldn't snatch them back; they weren't his to snatch.

“Don't talk any more.” He walked over to the shed where he fetched a y-shaped piece of dogwood from his shelf.

“If you're gonna help me, it would be good for you to have your own slingshot, so you understand the ins and outs of it.”

She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and brought out as fine a specimen as he had ever seen. It made his look like something Fred Flintstone would carry around. Hers was uniformly solid, and the rubber and leather sling looked strong and full of purpose.

“Wow,” he said. “Where'd you get your hands on that?”

“So I'm allowed to speak now?”

He smiled. “'Course.”

“I made it.” She handed it over.

“What kinda wood is it?”

She had left the bark on, except where the grooves were, and he liked that rough-hewn look. His weapon looked naked and tired next to it: the slingshot of a simpleton.

“Willow,” she said. “We have a big old willow tree in our yard.”

“The rubber,” he said. “It's red.”

“Yeah. It's from an inner tube.”

She lifted her chin towards a black inner tube that floated on the surface of the pool along with the elm seeds and aspen fluff.

“Like that one, except red.”

A picture of Cookie, cold and rubbery from the river, flashed behind Danny's eyes.

“The rubber of red inner tubes is more elastic. You can pull it back further.”

He pulled and saw that she was right.

The grooves were perfect and the rubber was tied with strong twine. The leather pocket for the stone was expertly attached; there were uniform slits to slip over the tubing.

“There's a dead squirrel in your pool,” Janine said.

He followed her gaze. He handed the slingshot back to her and went to the shed for the skimmer that Uncle Edwin used to clean the surface. Handling it with ease, he scooped the squirrel out of the water and tossed it over the back fence with one smooth action. It was done before Russell had a chance to get involved.

“Nice one,” said Janine.

“Where'd you get the leather?” he said.

“It's the tongue from a pair of my dad's old shoes.”

He whistled quietly. “It's a beaut.” He laid the skimmer down.

“I have to go now.” She put the slingshot back in her pocket. “I have to make supper for my dad, but I could come back later and start in on being your assistant — set up cans and stuff.”

“Why do you want to help me?” Danny said.

“I just do.”

“But why?”

“Cookie was my friend. I mean, not so much lately, with what she got up to and everything, but...well…she was kind to me, back before…”

“Back before what she got up to lately.”

“Yeah.”

Danny hadn't known that anyone else was aware of
what she got up to lately
. He wasn't even sure that his mum realized the extent of it.

“Plus, I hate Hardass and I'd like to do something to her.”

Danny smiled.
Hardass
. So it wasn't just about him becoming the best slingshot shooter in Canada.

“What if we get in serious trouble?” he said.

“We won't.”

“Where do you live?”

“On Lyndale. Same as you but at the far end.”

“Maybe I could come there.”

He wanted to get a look at the tree with the good wood, maybe find himself a decent branch. Maybe she would give him a strip of the red tubing.

“No,” she said. “That wouldn't be good. I'll come here, or we could meet somewhere. At the river, say.”

“Yeah, okay. Tomorrow? Two o'clock?”

He too had a supper to make and he had to digest this new development.

Russell saw her to the gate.

As she walked away, she said over her shoulder, “Your grass could use a mowing.”

Danny looked around him. It hadn't been cut since the last time Uncle Edwin was here, and that was well before school let out for the summer. He tossed the piece of uncarved dogwood over the fence into the vacant lot. Then he got the push mower out of the shed. After one go-round the grass looked practically as long it did before he started, so he did it again.