Tracing Hearts (3 page)

A waded up piece of paper comes whizzing past my head. I look over to see Peter with his hands in the air. I raise my eyebrows and glance toward Mr. Schulz. He’s not paying attention, so I reach down, grab it from the floor, and toss it back, hitting Peter square in the forehead. He pretends he’s fatally wounded and dramatically drops his head onto the desk behind him. Sonja screeches in disgust, and the teacher looks up.

“Wer hat das geworfen?” Mr. Schulz asks.

Peter looks directly at me. I don’t think he means to, but with that one look, he basically tells him
exactly
where it came from.

“Mr. Vaughn, would you like me to call your parents?” Mr. Schulz says sternly.

I hang my head.

“No, sir.”

“Then, I suggest you sit quietly and read your letter.” His bushy eyebrows point downward, toward the bridge of his nose, as he looks over his glasses at me, scowling.

“Yes, sir.”

I read it again, trying to figure out if I like this girl. She seems like the type a guy could hang out with, without being accused of liking her. The fact that she likes pink though tells me she’s still girly enough to make me uncomfortable.

Peter tries to get my attention again, but I ignore him. I don’t need the school to call my parents…again. The last time they did, it was because Ben, which is short for Benedikt, tried to shove some smaller boy into his locker. I put a stop to it quickly, though I got a week’s worth of detention out of it. I fold the envelope back up and shove it into my back pocket.

***

When I arrive back on post, Mom is waiting for me.

“How was your day, sweetheart?” she asks while washing dishes.

“Fine,” I simply say as I fling my backpack onto the kitchen table.

“Fine?” I nod.

“That’s what you always say. Doesn’t anything exciting ever happen so that your
fine
might turn into a
fantastic
?”

I look at her like she has three heads.

“Mom, it’s school. Nothing exciting ever happens there.”

She smiles, shakes her head, and goes back to her dishes.

“Don’t leave your back pack in here, please,” she adds.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

On the way to my bedroom, I pass by my brother’s room. His door is open enough for me to see he’s busy playing with his army guys. He doesn’t realize I’m home yet, which is good, since I seem to be his only playmate. I tip toe past, hoping to avoid him.

“Sebastian?” I hear Chris call, and I roll my eyes. I guess I wasn’t quiet enough.

“Yeah?” I say in reply. Soon, he comes leaping out of his room, Army guys in hand and heads straight toward me.

“Want to play today? I’m just setting up the front line, and Dad brought home some new tanks for me. I’ll let you play with them first, if you want.” His voice is hopeful, but I’m not really in the mood to play right now.

“I have a ton of homework to do, buddy. I’m sorry.” His face falls, and I instantly feel bad. “Maybe after I’m done though,” I add, to cushion the blow.

He smiles excitedly. “Okay!” he says and bounces back into his room.

My room is a mess, and I can hardly open the door wide enough to shimmy through it. It’s a wonder that Mom hasn’t yelled about cleaning it up. I step over clothes that I’m not sure are clean or dirty, and pull the letter from Julia out of my pocket. Throwing it on the small desk next to my closet, I sag into my bed. With my arms laced behind my head, I stare at the ceiling.

“Sebastian, don’t forget to clean up your room!” Mom calls from the kitchen. I cringe.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answer, then sigh. Closing my eyes, my thoughts drift to Julia. What does she look like? She hasn’t described herself yet. Is her hair brown or blonde? Maybe it’s red. Not that it matters. I’m just trying to picture her. Did her mom have an Andrew or a Victoria? The letters back and forth take so long to get here that I’m sure she must know by now. Does she have lots of friends, or is she more like me, the new kid everyone seems to be afraid of talking to? I decide it doesn’t really matter and put these thoughts out of my mind for now.

I hear some commotion at the front door and soon, my best friend barges into my room, uninvited.

“What are you doing just laying around? We’ve got a mission, soldier!” A very energetic Peter declares.

“Not today, dude. I’m tired.”

He makes a face and before I know it, he jumps onto the bed, grabs ahold of my head, and makes his best effort to give me noogies with his fist. I predict his actions and roll out of his reach. We wrestle around, both trying to get the upper hand and, as usual, I end up victorious, as I rub my fist back and forth across the top of his head.

“I give, I give! You win!” he says. “As usual.” I release him and plop back down onto the bed. Sitting, I push my too long, mop top off my face. “You know, I don’t know why I ever try to beat you at anything. You always seem to come out on top. No pun intended.”

“I don’t know. Maybe someday, you’ll learn to just accept you’re a loser.” I raise one eyebrow and think he might attempt another attack, but he refrains.

“So, what should we do today?”

I shrug.

“We could sneak over to the barracks and steal more of Sergeant Crosby’s stuff. I think we have him convinced he’s crazy,” Peter laughs.

I smile in remembrance of our antics.

“Nah. I don’t feel like doing much of anything today, Pete. You should go do something without me.”

“Dude, what’s your problem? You haven’t wanted to do anything for a long time now. What gives?”

I lie back against my bed again and replace my hands where they were before I was interrupted. What
is
my problem? I’ve been unmotivated to do anything remotely mischievous lately. All I want to do is sit in my room and do nothing. Peter and I used to get into so much trouble that my dad thought we’d all get kicked off post. Now, it seems as though nothing sounds fun to do. I glance over at the letter from Julia. It’s still folded and on top of my desk. Maybe, I should write to her. Maybe, someone who I’ll never meet can cheer me up and pull me out of this weird mood I’ve slumped into. Peter looks at me and follows my eyes to look in the direction I’m looking. He gets off the bed and takes the letter. I sit up quickly.

“What are you doing?” I say, nervously and, with wide eyes. I don’t want him to read it.

“What’s this?”

I get to my feet and walk toward him.

“It’s my letter from America. Now hand it over.” I make a move to grab it, but he pulls it out of my reach. His palm against my chest stops me from getting closer to it. “Give me the letter,” I say forcefully and lunge at it.

“You want this?” He holds the letter up high and beyond my grasp. “Is this the reason you don’t want to hang out with me? A girl? You want to write back to her?” He brings it down to his nose and inhales. “Oh, my God. She doused it with perfume!” His face twists as he closes his eyes in a gesture that’s reserved for smelling sweaty feet. That gives me just enough leverage to jump up and grab it from his greedy little hand. He laughs. “Really, Seb? Are you really ditching me for a girl?”

“Shut up. You don’t know anything,” I grumble, as I stuff the letter safely down the pocket in the front of my jeans.

“Wow. Hung up on a girl you’ll never meet. I never thought I’d see the day my friend,” Peter says, shaking his head.

“I’m not hung up on her. I just think it’s cool to talk to her. I miss being back home. She just feels like a little piece of where I wish I was.” I plop my depressed-self back onto the bed and sigh. Peter comes to sit next to me.

“I know what you mean. I wish my dad would just get discharged already. I miss my house in the states.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, each contemplating our unfortunate situation. It’s not that I don’t like living in Germany. The country is really nice, and I’m glad I get to see it. However, I long for the days I used to spend back home. I left a lot of good friends there, and there’s so much about it that makes me wish my dad had never been transferred. I place my hand on the front of my pants, where the letter from Julia rests. I want to write to her.

“Hey, you gotta go man. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Peter nods and stands.

“Tell her I said hi,” he says as he looks back at me.

I smile.

“No.”

He just shakes his head. “Whatever, jerk face.” He walks out, closing the door behind him.

I pull the envelope out from my pocket and unfold it. Touching it to the end of my nose, I can smell some kind of flowery scent, and it makes me smile. Yeah, just girly enough to make me uncomfortable.

Julia

Weeks have gone by, with no word from Sebastian or any other German pen pal. I’m impatient with Mrs. Kearney’s lack of enthusiasm for asking us to write back to our pen pals in a timely fashion. If it were up me, I’d have the class respond immediately, so the time in between letters is shortened. Maybe I should just ask Sebastian for his home address.

Our teacher reveals a manila envelope, but no longer lets us read our letters in class. It’s most likely because not everyone is getting mail anymore. I’m excited when she calls my name but sad when Megan’s name isn’t called. She seems okay without getting a response from Frida, but I know better.

***

As soon as I walk through the door to my house, I can hear Victoria crying. Mom is cradling her, but she just keeps up her noisy protest.

“Hi, honey. How was school today?” she asks. Her eyes look tired.

“Fine, mom. Do you want me to hold her for a while, to give you a break?”

She smiles warmly.

“No honey. You need time to unwind after your long day at school. Maybe later.”

“Okay,” I say, and run to my room to open my newest letter.

I grin broadly at the envelope. Sebastian drew a group of aliens having some sort of battle on the back of it. He used a black pen and colored it in with colored pencils. His boy-like drawings make me hug his latest correspondence. Careful not to tear it, and disturb the battle lines, I insert a letter opener and gingerly saw open the top. Upon unfolding the notebook paper, I giggle when I spy more aliens inside. He’s quite good at drawing them. My eyes scan the words.

Dear Julia,

I’m guessing, by the time I received your last letter, your baby brother or sister was born. So…what is it? I’m going to suggest some nicknames for both. That way you can have some ideas whether he is a he, or she is a she.

Suggested nicknames for Andrew:

-Andy

-Drew

-Andre

-Werdna (That’s Andrew spelled backwards.)

-Drewfus

-Jerkface

-Number two (Because he was born second, not because he’s a piece of number two…unless he’s a pest, then it means the second one.)

Suggested nicknames for Victoria:

-Vicki/Vikki (Spelled a ton of different ways)

-Tori

-Toria

-Airotciv (Again, her name spelled backwards, though I don’t think it works as well in this case.)

-Whinybutt

My favorites are Drewfus and Toria, but you can make up your own mind.

So, tell me about America. Is it still the same as it ever was? My home was in New York. I miss the scorching hot summers, and the cold, cold winters, and watching the snow fall, hoping to get a day off school. Sled riding with my best friend, Drew, was the highlight of my day. (It’s ironic that your parents are thinking of picking Andrew as the name of your could-be new brother.) I remember one time he wrecked on his sled. He was so mad to have ripped a hole in his brand new jeans. He wasn’t the toughest kid around, but he was hilarious, and we had a great time. I heard he started taking some kind of theater classes. He always wanted to be a performer. My dad questioned why I hung out with him. He had him pegged as being gay, but I didn’t care. He was my friend. Every once in a while, I wonder what he’s doing now.

By the way, my teacher isn’t making a big deal out of writing to America anymore, so I was wondering if we could start writing to each other’s houses. If you don’t think it’s a good idea, I’ll understand. I just thought it might be nice to be able to write whenever we wanted to, instead of waiting a month or more in between. It’s just a thought. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Just in case though, I’m going to give you my address.

I can’t think of anything else to write, so I’m going to go. I hope to hear from you soon!

Your friend,

Sebastian

PS. I’m not going to tell you my middle name. It’s awful.

I lay the letter down on my desk. He sounds sort of sad. It must be hard being away from your home for so long. I sit back against my chair and think. What can I do to cheer him up? I decide to ask Mom for some advice, so I go downstairs to find her.

“Mom?”

“Shh. Victoria’s asleep. Let’s not wake her up,” she whispers. Mom takes my hand and leads me into the family room, which is just off the kitchen, and far away from sleeping Toria. “What I can do for you, honey?” she asks. Her eyes still look tired, but there’s an odd look of relief on her face too.

“You know how I’ve been writing to a pen pal?” She nods. “Well, I got a letter from Sebastian today, and he seems sad. I think he misses being in America.”

“I’m sure he does. I think that’s a normal reaction to having a father who’s in the military and being overseas.”

“Yeah. I was wondering if there’s anything I can do to cheer him up.”

She straightens slightly and twists her mouth, while rubbing her chin.

“Hmm. Let’s think about what you might want if you were far from home and maybe a little homesick.”

“I’d want my chocolate bunny,” I say.

She smiles. “I know you would, but it’s too much money to send a package that far away. Besides, he’s a boy. Not many of them like stuffed animals.”