Wicked Cruel (11 page)

“I suppose your mother will drag me into town this afternoon,” Dad said as Danny was getting ready to leave. “Maybe we’ll see you there.”

Dad didn’t care for the crowds. The Pumpkin Fest attracted seventy-five thousand visitors to town for the day, from all over New Hampshire and Vermont and Massachusetts, including a few busloads from Boston.

Danny’s favorite part of the whole thing—besides the jack-o’-lanterns—was the food. The ambulance corps, church groups, Little League teams, Special Olympics—those and dozens of other organizations sold doughnuts, pizzas, pierogies, cider, and countless other food items, earning most of their budget for the year on this single day.

“Dress in layers,” Mom said. “You can always shed some things if it warms up.”

Layer one: T-shirt
, Danny thought.
Layer two: sweatshirt
.

“Mom! He’s trying to leave without a jacket,” Claudine said as Danny opened the back door.

“Danny,” Mom said. “They say it might be stormy later.”

He pulled a Red Sox jacket from a hook. “Thanks, jerk,” he said to Claudine.

“You’re
so
welcome.”

“Don’t you two forget about your father’s poetry reading tonight,” Mom said.

“Mom,” Danny complained, “that’s when they start lighting the pumpkins.”

“They’ll be lit until midnight. You can miss a little of it.”

Claudine scowled. “That’s when, like, twenty of my friends are meeting to hang out,” she said. “Can we just stay a few minutes?”

“No,” Mom said. “The entire poetry reading will be less than an hour. You need to be there.”

Claudine walked out of the room, muttering, “Why do I have to be the daughter of a famous poet?”

Danny put on the Red Sox jacket and left the house.
Right, Claudine
, he thought.
Dad’s famous and you have twenty friends. And Santa Claus is married to the Easter Bunny
.

Main Street was closed to traffic for the day, starting at the roundabout, so Danny walked down the center of the road past huge brick houses and the post office and St. Joseph’s Church. Dozens of giant pumpkins were set up on the center median here, some of them as tall as he was. The food vendors started a block later, with tents and booths and grills lining both sides of the wide street.

Danny could smell chicken roasting. There would be at
least two rock or jazz performances going on at any time, under tents or on temporary stages around town.

A lot of people were already walking. By noon it would be so crowded that you could barely move.

Danny found his jack-o’-lantern on the lowest row of a five-platform scaffold. He looked around, then lifted the pumpkin and placed it two rows higher, close to eye level and next to Janelle’s, which she’d carved with much greater delicacy and skill.

“Beauty and the beast?” asked a familiar voice.

Danny turned to see Luke pointing at the two pumpkins and laughing. Luke was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and shorts; didn’t seem like any parents told
him
what to wear.

Carter was standing with him. Carter never said much; he just hung close to Luke all the time.

“As if you’ve got a chance with Janelle,” Luke said. “Those two pumpkins are closer than you’ll ever get to her.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asked.

“Like we don’t know you have a crush on her?” Luke said. “Everybody sees you staring at her in class.”

“I do not.”

“You do, too.”

“I do not!”

“You do it every day.”

“So what if I do?”

Luke turned Danny’s pumpkin and pushed it slightly, so its mouth was up against Janelle’s pumpkin. “Look. Your pumpkins are making out. That’s as close as you’ll ever get.”

“Cut it out,” Danny said. He readjusted the pumpkins.

“We’re just kidding around, Danny Boy,” Luke said. “Dream about her all you want.”

Luke and Carter walked away, laughing.

“Jerks,” Danny said. He said it out loud, but not nearly loud enough for anyone else to hear.

By noon Danny had eaten a container of French fries from the fire department, a pulled-pork sandwich made by a church choir, and a slice of pumpkin pie from a Girl Scout troop. He had his eye on some chicken fingers and kettle corn.

A teenage grunge-rock band had started playing in the parking lot in front of Cheshire Tire, so he made his way through the crowd to listen. He squeezed between two people in motorcycle jackets and found himself standing next to the last person he’d hoped to see: his sister, Claudine.

Claudine rolled her eyes and took two sideways steps away. Someone else moved into the gap.

Janelle.

She was his height, and she seemed to glow with fitness and confidence. She was gyrating her shoulders in rhythm to the music, which must have been hard because it didn’t seem to Danny that there
was
any rhythm.

Janelle was the first girl Danny had ever thought was beautiful. When he caught her eye, she seemed to brighten, and she made a motion with her hand that looked like a duck’s beak closing.

Danny waved, too, a sweeping, open-palmed gesture. He lifted one shoulder and dropped the other in imitation of her dance, then immediately stopped trying to be cool.

He could see Claudine looking over in disgust. Janelle turned to her and smiled, and Claudine sunk back into the crowd and disappeared.

“Your sister doesn’t like you much, huh?” Janelle asked while the musicians broke between songs.

“I don’t like her much either.”

“Why not?”

“She’s …” Danny hesitated. His father had told him—repeatedly—that speaking ill of others would not endear you to anyone else. “She’s at an awkward age,” he said, a phrase his father constantly used when referring to Danny.

Janelle gave a half smile. She was the best-liked kid in class. “What age
isn’t
awkward?”

The band started up again, intentionally off-key and sullen. Janelle leaned toward Danny and jutted her chin toward the drummer. “That’s my brother,” she said.

“You get along?”

Janelle nodded vigorously. “Really well. But he’s five years older, not like you and your sister.”

“I don’t think we’d get along if she was even older than that.”

“You should try. My brother is great.”

“That’s the thing; Claudine isn’t.”

Danny felt a slight shove as more people tried to get close to the band. He shoved back, but stumbled as he was pushed a little harder.

Luke was now between him and Janelle. Carter was on the other side of her.

Luke and Carter danced more aggressively than Janelle did, swinging their arms and nodding their heads.

Danny backed away. The band wasn’t any good. Janelle didn’t even notice that he left.

Watching the costume parade was okay for twenty minutes—thousands of little kids dressed as monsters and princesses and rabbits and football players, mixed in with the high school band, the college dance team, and politicians in convertibles.

Danny bought some fried dough with powdered sugar and watched a jazz band that was set up on the median for a few minutes. Then he crossed the street to the Colonial—a century-old theater with wooden seats and high walls and an ornate ceiling. He almost never went there. Half the movies weren’t even in English, and the live shows and operas were only interesting to stuffy adults like his father. But during Pumpkin Fest they showed old Looney Tunes cartoons all day for free.

He sat through a dozen Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck cartoons, laughing the whole time. He was older than most of the kids in the place, but this was a lot more fun than a grunge band. The theater smelled of burnt popcorn.

People were constantly coming and going, grabbing a quick rest or trying to keep bored kids entertained. Parents’ patience ran short. Danny decided to move to the front row to avoid the commotion.

There was his sister again, in an aisle seat in the second row. Danny poked her arm as he walked past. She smacked him with the back of her hand.

“Where are all those friends of yours?” Danny asked sarcastically.

“They must be with yours,” Claudine replied.

Danny took a seat in the center of the first row. He watched four more cartoons, then headed home for the rest of the afternoon, cutting through the college campus. He imagined what it would be like to have Janelle walking with him, friendly and making jokes.

The sky was overcast and the mist had never quite burned off. As he circled around Brickyard Pond, he felt a touch of loneliness, but he shook it off, like he always did.

His parents weren’t home. They’d be strolling among the jack-o’-lantern scaffolds and maybe having a once-a-year ice cream sandwich.

He went up to the bathroom, shut the door, and turned to the mirror. He dropped his left shoulder, then his right, and swirled his fists in a circle as he swayed to the music in his head.

“Now
that’s
ridiculous,” he said, abruptly stopping his attempt to dance.

He went to the living room and toggled back and forth between three college football games.

A copy of his father’s new book was on the coffee table. It was a thin paperback with a photo of the mountain on the cover. Sixty-four pages with one poem per page and a brief intro. The book was dedicated “For my children—May they grow as strong and enduring as the Mountain itself.”

Danny read the opening lines of the first poem, “Life in the Shadow.”

Ooof!
Danny thought with a sigh.
You opened the book with
that,
Dad? Way to be subtle
.

Danny set down the book as a Notre Dame quarterback got sacked by two linemen from USC.

The back door opened. Claudine came in. “What are you watching?” she asked.

Danny thrust his hand toward the screen. “It’s called football.”

“They showed ‘Little Red Riding Rabbit’ right after you left,” Claudine said.

“Darn,” Danny replied. He imitated Red, speaking to Bugs Bunny. “ ‘I got a little bunny rabbit which I’m takin’ to my grandma’s. Ta
have
, see?’ ”

Claudine laughed. “ ‘Hey—what sharp teeth ya got, Grandma!’ ”

Danny nodded. “Good stuff.”

“They still out?”

“Seems like it. I never saw them.”

“I did,” Claudine said. “They tried to get me to walk around with them, but, like, there was no way I was going to be seen hanging out with my parents.”

“Seen by who?” Danny asked.

“Duh. Everybody. None of my friends were anywhere near their parents.”

Danny stared at the television and decided not to make another remark about Claudine’s friend situation. He was surprised that she stood and watched the football game for a minute.

At the next commercial, Danny pointed to the poetry book. “Have you read this?”

“Some.”

“The first one is kind of preachy.”

Claudine scrunched up her mouth as if deep in thought. “More teachy than preachy, but I know what you mean. That’s Dad.”

“He’s probably read a billion poems in his life,” Danny said. “You’d think he’d finally write a good one.”

Claudine seemed to be holding back a laugh. “It’s a long climb to the peak.”

Danny let out a short, huffy breath. “I mean, if you’re going to rhyme your poems, at least get the meter right.”

“Like you could do better?”

“Like I would want to?”

Claudine went out to the kitchen. Danny heard the refrigerator open. “Do we have any orange juice?” he called.

“Yes,” Claudine said.

But when Danny got there, he found only a half-gallon container of carrot juice.

Claudine smirked. “It’s very orange, isn’t it?”

“Real funny. What normal household has giant cartons of carrot juice and nothing else to drink?” He drank a glass of water instead and went back to the couch.

“Does anything rhyme with Monadnock?” Claudine asked as she looked out the window toward the pond.

“A padlock,” Danny said. “A bad doc.”

“My dad’s sock,” Claudine said. “Wow. I guess we could be famous poets, too!”

Danny picked up the book again and leafed through it. A poem titled “Legends of Brickyard Pond” caught his eye. He scanned it. “Here’s one that works,” he called.

“Let’s hear it.”

“You can read it yourself. Give me a second.” He read it more slowly to himself.

“He saw them!” Danny said.

“Who saw what?”

“The horses. The ghost ones.”

Claudine sighed. “If you believe that, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Danny scowled and looked at the clock: 5:32. He wanted to get a barbecued chicken sandwich at the American Legion booth, and he’d heard that a classic-rock band would be playing in Central Square at 6:00. “If you see them, tell them I left.”

“Don’t miss Dad’s poetry thing. I’m going, so you better.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Don’t be late, Danny.”

“I can tell time.”

“Yeah, and you usually ignore it. You’re late for everything.”