Finders Keepers (3 page)

“Hey JOSHUA!” he yelled excitedly, but the ridge behind him was empty. He shrugged, no big deal. They had taken the eagle feather home. He'd take this, a genuine arrowhead, an unbroken one too! He slipped it carefully into his back pocket, cleaned up his shoe and headed home to the farm.

Meeting Joshua and his grandfather had distracted Danny completely from his worries, but as he approached his farm driveway, the fear of getting into big trouble slowed his steps. His hand shook as he opened the gate and tried to figure out how he was going to explain “playing hookey” to his mom.

His dog bounded up to meet him, tail and ears waving.

“Down Ringo!” Danny commanded gruffly. “I can't play now.”

Ringo barked and continued to eagerly circle Danny, mouthing his hand and racing off to retrieve and drop a favourite stick. Danny ignored him. Ringo whined in protest and sank onto his haunches.

The kitchen door flew open framing Danny's mother, stern and tense. “Where do you think you've been?” she asked. But before Danny could answer she reached out and pulled him inside. “You go straight to your room young man. I've got to phone the Mounties, the school and your dad, and tell them you're back.”

Danny found his voice. “The Mounties?” he squeaked.

“Yes, the Mounties,” repeated his mother angrily. “Who
else do you call when a ten-year-old kid disappears from school and is missing all afternoon?”

Danny felt sick. The emotions of the day suddenly became too much for him. He looked up at his mother, the blood draining from his face. She stared back, then her face softened.

“Oh Danny,” she said, bending down and hugging him hard. “I was so worried.” She brushed the hair off his forehead. “Are you OK?”

Danny nodded and hugged her abruptly. “I didn't mean to scare you… I was safe… I was only in the fields.” Then he pulled back and looked at her with a stubborn expression on his face. “But I'm never going back to school again.
EVER!
” And he ran to his bedroom and slammed the door.

Danny lay stiffly on his bed. He knew he was in deep trouble. But how could he be in the wrong and yet feel so right? School was the pits. It wasn't just him that was wrong, Mr. Berg was awful. But who was going to believe him?

Danny tried to organize his thoughts so he could explain his desperation to his parents. It was a repeat of his last report card when Mr. Berg had said he was lazy and didn't try and his dad believed Mr. Berg! It wasn't fair. No matter how hard Danny tried, school was a disaster. Words in the textbooks wouldn't stay still on the pages. He found it hard to understand the explanations. As for numbers, they were like bits of spaghetti, always slipping out of his grasp. Then there was gym. In gym he always got mixed up with right and left and fell over and everyone laughed at him and called him dumb. When people laughed, or someone yelled at him, then his brain would stop working.

Danny thought it all through very carefully. He wished he could explain school to his dad. His dad had found school easy. His dad wanted Danny to do well, go to business college, then take over the store. Danny hated helping in the store. He made mistakes. Then his dad yelled.

Danny sighed. “Oh well, maybe my parents will discover I've got a brain tumor or something, and I'll never have to go back to school, or work in the store, or anything.”

Danny lay back on his pillow and imagined the scene.

“Danny Budzynski is seriously ill,” announced the principal in assembly. “In fact, he is not expected to live long. He has a brain tumor.” Everyone at school gasped. Some of the girls started to cry. “I wished we'd been nicer to him,” cried his classmates. “Me too,” agreed Mr. Berg, who came and begged for forgiveness at his bedside, while Danny, pale and wan, raised his hand and in a frail voice said, “I forgive you all,” and died.

There was a sharp rap on the bedroom door. “Supper's ready,” called his mother.

Reality was definitely unpleasant. Supper was almost completely silent. “Do you want to talk now or when your dad gets home?” asked his mother stiffly.

Danny poked the chili around his bowl. He'd rather talk to his mom. He knew she'd listen and try to help explain to his father. But that might make things worse. His father was big on him 'being a man' and having 'man to man' talks about problems. “Guess I'll have to talk to dad anyway,” he sighed. “ But can we do it all together? The once?”

His mother nodded, though she obviously found waiting hard. So did Danny. The adventure of a stolen afternoon had completely vanished and he just wanted the day to be over. He dropped his spoon and pushed back his chair. “Can I go mom? I'm not hungry.”

“Go where?” asked his mother a shade too quickly.

“To watch TV,” answered Danny impatiently. He looked at his mother's anxious eyes. “What's the matter? I'm not an escaped criminal or something.” He stomped into the living room, threw himself on the sofa and tried to immerse himself in a rock video program, but no matter how loud he turned up the music he couldn't stop his ears picking up his mother's jerky movements in the kitchen or stop himself listening for his father's car.

It was a relief when the car did arrive and he heard the slam of the back door, but just as he stood up to join his parents, he heard another voice and his heart dropped to
his boots; it was Mr. Hubner, the school principal. Danny sprawled angrily on the sofa again. What was the principal here for? This was Danny's business with his parents. As far as he was concerned, school was history.

His father walked determinedly into the living room, clicked off the TV and stood, straddle-legged in front of it. Mr. Hubner followed and sat down confidently in the easy chair opposite Danny. His mother perched on a straight chair looking uneasy. The small room was suddenly full of large adults.

“Well Danny,” boomed Mr. Hubner with a big gummy smile. “I gather you've had a bad day?”

Danny glanced around the room feeling cornered. Three against one. It wasn't fair!

Mr. Hubner leaned forward over his knees, clasped his hands earnestly and dropped his voice. “We're here to help you. When a kid runs away from school it's pretty serious and we need to know why.” He stretched out a hand and patted Danny encouragingly on the knee, then leaned back again. “So why don't you take your time and tell us what the problem is?”

Danny felt his brain seize up and his mind go blank. Everything he'd thought of to tell his folks… gone. His brain was in deep-freeze mode. No words, no images, just a big fat zero.

He huddled on the sofa scarcely feeling his body. It was like those zombies in the horror movies. The living dead, that's what he was. No wonder his teacher thought he was dumb.

There was a long and heavy silence.

“Danny,” said his father in a warning voice. “Ignoring us isn't going to help. That's just going to get everyone plain mad.”

Mad! They were going to get mad. Deep inside Danny felt a small hot spot begin to glow. Well they weren't the only ones who were going to get mad. So was Danny, real mad. A great big M.A.D.

Danny's brain was still locked in deep freeze, so he filled
in his time by staring at Mr. Hubner and waiting for his Adam's apple to bob up and down. Mr. Hubner always did that when he was feeling annoyed but trying to put things in a nice way.

“HRUUMP.” Mr. Hubner cleared his throat and his Adam's apple bobbed rapidly. “Er, Danny, when your dad and I were at school, any student who ran away would have got a licking. No questions asked. Right Charlie?”

Danny's dad nodded in agreement.

“Now just a minute!” Danny's mother broke in.

“Let me finish, Jeanie.” Mr. Hubner held up a warning hand. “I know, times have changed. But if Danny isn't going to cooperate and tell us why he left, then he is going to have to take the consequences and he won't like them.”

The threat hung heavily in the air. To Danny's dismay he felt tears of sheer frustration start to gather. Why didn't this guy just leave, then Danny could try talking to his parents. He wished now he'd talked first to his mother. She would listen. Then maybe she'd get his dad to listen. If only the jerky principal would leave.

Mr. Hubner rose heavily to his feet. He seemed to fill the room. “I'm a reasonable man, Danny, so I'm going to give you one more chance. Today's Friday. You think things over this weekend, then be in my office with an explanation at 8:30 am Monday morning.”

Danny's hot spot flared up propelling Danny suddenly to his feet. “I'm not going to your office,” he yelled. “I'm NEVER going to your office.”

“Danny,” implored his mother.

“I'm never going to school again.” Danny turned and glared at his father. “You can hit me, Dad, or lock me in jail if you like. For nothing you can do to me is as bad as making me go to school.” Then he plumped back on the sofa and waited for the sky to fall.

The adults exchanged shocked looks. Mr. Budzynski sighed heavily and shook Mr. Hubner by the hand. “Look, thanks for coming over Al, but I think we better try to get to the bottom of this ourselves. I'll run you back into town.”

The Principal nodded and made his way towards the back door. He turned before leaving. “Danny?”

Danny looked up.

“I'm here to help. I'll see you Monday,” and the door closed as the two men left.

Danny sat on the sofa, staring at his feet. Now he'd really done it. He'd never answered back to a teacher or principal before. He'd felt like it lots of times. Especially when Mr. Berg was picking on him. But now he'd really done it. He looked across at his mother with big unhappy eyes. “Will dad hit me?”

His mother came and sat beside him and pulled him close. “Has your dad ever hit you?” Danny shook his head. “Well he's not going to start now. It's just it's been a worry for all of us and when people are worried they get cross. Mr. Hubner has been as worried as us.”

Danny sniffed in disbelief.

“Danny, try and explain. Have you done something really wrong, broken something, hit somebody, even stolen something?” Danny shook his head vigorously.

His mother held him even tighter. “Then has somebody done something to you? Hit you? Touched you? Made you do something you're ashamed to talk about?”

Danny shook his head again and again. His mother looked at him in bewilderment. “Then what is it?”

Danny tried to explain. “It's just school, mom,” he explained tiredly. “Not just today, but all the time. It's awful.”

His mother continued to hold him close. Danny could feel her trying to choose words and help him. “Lots of kids don't like school Danny, but they don't run away.”

“Lots of kids can do the school work. I can't.”

His mother sighed. “Oh Danny. We've been through this so many times. You're bright. You can tell me the answers when I ask you questions. What happens?”

Danny shook his head miserably. “Dunno.” He looked up at his mother. “Mr. Berg gave us the mental arithmetic test today. Know how many I could do?”

His mother shook her head.

“Zilch.”

“But you studied for that. You were doing OK as long as you thought about it.”

“That's it.” Danny thumped the sofa in frustration. “There's no time to think. By the time I could see the question straight in my head, Mr. Berg was on the next one, and the one after that. I didn't even get the first answer down. By then I was too confused.”

His mother sighed. “I know. Sometimes math problems get me that way too. But school's not all mental arithmetic. That's only a small part of it.”

“Yeah. A big part's this new Social Studies and Language Arts project,” said Danny dismally.

“So tell me about that.”

“It's this new thing, see, kind of testing us on English and Socials at the same time. Mr. Berg explained it to us this morning. It's awful. We have to choose a subject, research it and write a report on it. The report's got to have illustrations and be at least 10 pages long. We have to do an outline, then a rough copy, then a good copy. The best copy has to have good handwriting and no spelling mistakes and be handed in on time. In six weeks! It will count for 50% of my year's mark in both Social Studies and Language Arts,” finished Danny, his voice rising despairingly.

“That doesn't sound too difficult,” said his mother slowly. “You've got lots of time. You could do a bit a night. Ten pages sounds a lot but if that includes illustrations it's not bad.” She brightened enthusiastically. “You could do something on the Indians you are always researching.”

Danny shook his head vehemently and sat on the edge of the sofa. “No Mom. You don't understand. The topic's no problem. I'm interested in lots of stuff. It's the writing and spelling and copying it out. Ten pages… I might as well quit now. I can't do ten pages without any mistakes. I'd have to redo it so many times it would take me ten years. I can't spell, Mom. I can't tell if the words are spelled right or wrong. There's no way I can hand in a report without
mistakes.” He slumped back into the sofa cushions.