Runt Page 6

  “Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.” I ran out into the soggy grass and dropped to my knees. She didn’t smell so good, but I wrapped my arms around her little waist anyway. “I am so sorry. I am so so sorry,” I said to Patty-Lou.

  I was getting grass stains on my dress, on my white tights, but I didn’t care.

  Our lawn was an embarrassment. Torn up from digging, yellow from pee, dried out. In fact, grass only grew in small patches here and there like a blotchy rash. Patty-Lou slowed down, turning her head as if she didn’t want anyone to watch her do her business. Dogs are like that. They like a little privacy even though they’d sit right in front of you and lick their private parts all day if you’d let them. But they like to pee and poo in private.

  So I looked away, back toward the house, as soon as I was sure she was squatting down and going. And just like that it started to rain. It was just little drops, hitting the concrete in dark circles. I looked up at the sky, which, when you think about it, is kind of a funny thing to do. It was still sunny outside but the rain pattered loudly. The weatherman on TV was predicting a hurricane. They’d already given it a name. A girl’s name.

  It used to be that hurricanes were given only girls’ names and then someone complained, probably a girl, saying that it gave girls a bad reputation. And now they alternate with boy’s names, to try to look fair. And the news was telling everyone to fill their bathtubs with water. Why? And to stock up on canned food and flashlights. People who lived near the shore were being advised to leave their homes.

  But Miss Robinson’s wedding had not been canceled, at least not the ceremony part—that was going to start very soon, any minute now, and Patty-Lou hadn’t moved. She was sitting still, waiting for me after she peed, like I held all the answers. Like I could really hurt her if she did the wrong thing. Like I was in charge or something. I saw she was starting to shake, tremble like an egg in a frying pan.

  There are some kinds of hurt that are just too much to feel.

  AND THEN THERE ARE THE CHICKENS

  * * *

  Jolie liked the monkeys best, so whenever they went to the Bronx Zoo it was the monkey house the whole family trooped to first. It would also be their last stop on the way out at the end of the day. Jolie always loved the monkeys.

  It was hard for Stewart, at least when he was younger, that every whim and every wish of his sister’s was answered while his remained secondary, even though Jolie was two years older than he was.

  “I’m hungry,” Stewart complained.

  “We’re going to eat lunch at the cafe. Just be patient, baby.”

  He hated being called baby, especially while his sister was the one in the wheelchair being forwarded, full tilt, to the monkey house.

  “But if we don’t get to Asia World, there will be a huge line for tickets,” Stewart said. He wasn’t hungry at all, he realized.

  His dad said, ruffling Stewart’s hair, “There’s plenty of time for everything. We have all day.”

  They passed the zoo center and took the path to the right. Asia World was to the left.

  When he was a toddler, Stewart used to cry that he wanted to ride in a wheelchair too. He would scream and bend his body and arch his way out of his stroller or his father’s arms, or just writhe around on the ground. His sister would just watch and shake her head.

  Oh, Stew. You don’t really want to ride in the wheelchair. You need to appreciate what you have. Your legs, your lungs.

  But no matter what anyone said, and long after he stopped whining about it, Stewart wanted to be pushed around in a wheelchair, at least every once in a while. Then he started to notice how people looked at his sister when they went out. They either looked or tried to look like they weren’t looking. They were disgusted, he could tell, by her running nose and running eyes, her lolling head. He hated them when they looked, and he hated when they looked away.

  He did. He appreciated his legs, and his arms, and his lungs. How he could run faster, faster than most. Participate in gym. Swim and play kickball. His father was so proud of him for making the Biddy-All-Star basketball team in fourth grade. He was unusually athletic, unusually strong for his age. Of course, he appreciated that and he hated himself for it.

  “Here we are,” Stewart’s mother sang out.

  “Again,” Stewart mumbled, but only his sister heard him.

  The Monkey House was one of the oldest original buildings at the zoo. It had huge alabaster pillars flanking its majestic entrance. Just above the door, carved in stone, was the bas-relief of a pensive monkey, resting his arm over his bent knee, staring out at the world. Stewart and his family took the handicapped ramp and pushed their way inside, where the outside world disappeared.

  It didn’t look quite the same as when it opened in 1901. Now the monkeys lived behind glass, or half-glass walls, in as close to real environments as could be created. Living moss-covered trees, thick hanging vines, moisture-filled air, and monkeys running, jumping, screaming, climbing on branches, and hanging from their tails.

  It was crowded with people. Couples with cameras, families snapping pictures with cell phones, people pointing, clapping, ooing and ahhing. Everybody, it seemed, loved the monkeys.

  The Internet is rich with monkey videos, especially of monkeys doing nasty things, like peeing on each other, appearing to kiss each other, biting each other, grooming each other, looking and acting as close to human as any animal can. No one knew it then, but by the end of that day, there would be a new video that would go viral within a week and spark an outcry of animal rights activism.

  Jolie got out of her chair to stand close to the divide. They were in Madagascar, according to the information plaque. The Squirrel Monkeys were particularly active and vocal, leaping from branch to branch, dipping down close to the body of water below, then flying back up and screaming louder.

  One of the monkeys was tormenting the otters who also inhabited this exhibit. The monkey would stealthily climb down his branch, clinging to the wild, fingerlike roots, and slap the otters on the head as they swam by, then scurry back up the tree with glee. It seemed to Stewart that the other monkeys in the trees looked like they were laughing at the otters’ misfortune, again and again. But this time there was some kind of scuffle. The crowd pushed closer to see what was going on.

  Stewart’s mother and father used their bodies and arms to keep people at a distance from Jolie as she watched. The air was thick and humid inside the monkey house. Jolie had her inhaler, but they had to be careful how long they stayed inside.

  As Stewart watched, one of the otters had had enough, and with his sharp claws yanked the monkey into the water. Though it took a while for the group of people to realize what had happened, the other monkeys knew immediately. As the monkey in the water thrashed about, fighting for its life, the ones in the trees screamed. Then those on the other side of the glass began wailing as well.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” Jolie said.

  “What?” Her mother bent closer.

  “The monkey is drowning. Someone has to do something. Somebody do something.”

  “Call someone. Someone call someone. Someone do something.”

  But everyone was frozen. You weren’t allowed to jump over the glass, into the water. Everyone knew how dangerous that was. Not to mention forbidden. And besides, what could they do? Otters were fierce. They lived on fish and shellfish, which they were expert at opening with their sharp claws and teeth.

  One man tried whistling very loudly as if the sound would end the attack, but of course, it didn’t. The monkeys leaped higher into the branches, safe but agitated, their shrieking indistinguishable from the humans’. By the time zoo personnel arrived to pull the dead monkey from the water, Stewart’s mother and father had pushed their way past the crowd and out the doors.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me. Wheelchair. Wheelchair coming through.”

  They hadn’t been back to the zoo since.

  • • •

  Stewart didn’t
stumble onto the video until two years later, when he was working on a sixth-grade science report about evolution. He saw the footage when he was googling primates on the internet and there it was. Someone had caught the whole thing on their cell phone and uploaded it to YouTube.

  Monkey Dies at Bronx Zoo

  People had posted all sorts of comments from, The monkeys were bullies, they deserved it to What kind of horrible people post a video like this? They should be the ones to drown.

  “How’s the work going?” Stewart’s father poked his head in the door.

  “Fine,” Stewart answered. He didn’t turn around. His face was still a bit swollen. He had two black eyes but the doctor said it was better to wait until he was older to do anything in terms of plastic surgery.

  “Look, Stu,” his father said. “It’s no big deal. You’ll get ’em next time.”

  FOUND IN MIDDLE SCHOOL DUMPSTER AND PARTIALLY EATEN BY A RAT

  * * *

  HERE COMES THE BRIDE

  * * *

  My mother dropped me off in the back of the church and it was a long walk around the block to the front. It was easier to get back there since the main street was one way. It was starting to rain pretty hard.

  “Take my umbrella,” my mother said.

  “No, I’m late, Mom.” I stepped out.

  “We’ll probably need to bring some wood in when you get back,” she said as I was shutting the car door. “You sure you can get a ride home?”

  My dress shoes were already turning from white to gray.

  I nodded yes, but I wasn’t sure at all. I hadn’t asked anyone from class for a ride home, but I didn’t want to miss the wedding. Miss Robinson was mad enough at me, even if she didn’t act like it. I had to show up and show her how much I liked her, but I was worried about getting home. I mean, who else would come out in this weather if they didn’t have to?

  The front rows on both sides of the aisle were all filled up. I should have taken the umbrella. My hair was plastered to my head.

  I was hoping to sit with someone from school who lived near me, but there were so few kids there at all. Maggie was there and I saw that she was alone with plenty of room on either side of her. Luckily I saw Freida Goldstein, and I knew Freida lived closer to me, anyway. Maggie lived on the whole other side of town.

  If Freida catches my eyes I can sit with her. If she catches my eye I can say hello and then maybe sit down. And then she called out to me first. “Wanna sit here?”

  “Sure.” I sat down on the hard wooden pew.

  “Not many kids from class showed up,” Freida said.

  “Hey, do you think you can give me a ride home after the ceremony?” I just blurted it out.

  Freida laughed, but not a mean laugh.

  “We just got here. It hasn’t even started yet.”

  “I know. I just . . . it’s just that I don’t . . .”

  “Sure,” Freida jumped in. “My mom loves to drive kids home, but she’ll talk and talk and ask you tons of personal questions. Are you all right with that?”

  Now I laughed. “Sure.”

  “I love a wedding. Do you watch that show on TV?” Freida lowered her voice. “Say Yes to the Dress?”

  The minister guy had started talking. I whispered back. “Yeah, I watch it all the time.”

  The music started and the wedding party made their way toward the altar. The service went on for a long time, a lot about commitment and honor and the future. Miss Robinson and her husband stayed kneeling so nobody could really see anything but the minister. Or was he a priest?

  “I really liked your poem,” Freida said, leaning in closer.

  I could feel my face turn red. “I don’t know why I said that. I mean, said that out loud. About my poem and everything.” Just remembering what I said made my stomach twist.

  “It’s okay,” Freida whispered. “It really was the best one. By far.”

  I took a big breath. “My mother didn’t even see it. I don’t know why I said that.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  So Freida knew the truth now, and somehow it made me feel better just to get that off my chest. But it was too late to get Miss Robinson to like me again. Mrs. Robinson will probably like me even less.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Miss Robinson was standing and Mr. Robinson was putting a ring on her finger, but the sound of the rain made it impossible to hear what was going on up there.

  ABSOLUTE POWER ABSOLUTELY

  * * *

  And then the storm arrived. November was so late in the year for a hurricane—a superstorm, they were calling it. Cold air from Canada and a tropical storm racing up the coast from the south. Still, Miss Robinson was kneeling at the altar with her soon-to-be-husband right beside her.

  Maggie looked around the church. The front rows were all filled up with family and friends of the bride and groom. The few kids from class who had shown up were here in the back pews. Rain pelted the stained glass. Maggie slouched down against the hard wooden seat.

  Zoe had promised she was coming and then texted at the last minute.

  My mom says its nuts to go out in this weather. Sorry.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, Larissa hadn’t even bothered to say she wasn’t coming. When the organ music began and the wedding procession started down the aisle and Maggie was still sitting alone, she gave up waiting.

  Miss Robinson looked beautiful, Maggie had to say. Her dark hair against her pale skin, her dress was so white and so perfect. She didn’t look fat at all. She looked like a princess and boy, was she smiling. But it was the way the groom looked at her that really made Maggie choke up. It was like there was no one else in the room as Miss Robinson walked toward him. They even had a flower girl. Maggie turned around to watch the little girl throw petals, and that’s when she saw Freida.

  Freida’s overprotective helicopter mom drove her daughter in this weather? Oh, well, she did. And now Freida was there, sitting with Elizabeth Moon?

  It was a full five seconds of staring back before Maggie realized everyone was sitting straight and looking forward again toward the altar and the father, who had begun talking. During the service, Maggie tried to covertly turn her head back to Freida and Elizabeth. They were sitting close and talking, smiling. They looked happy. The wind was picking up and branches were scraping against the building. But Freida and Elizabeth didn’t seem to mind.

  Freidabeth? Elizada? No, those both sounded stupid. Freida was stupid. This whole wedding was stupid. And Elizabeth was the dog girl, braggy girl, Miss I’m-smarter-than-everyone girl. Smelly-Girl.

  Smelly-Girl. What a perfect name for an indie band.

  The father paused a minute when the lights flickered, and everyone held their breath but nothing happened. With the wind and the rain, Maggie couldn’t hear a word he was saying anyway.

  Smelly girl. A good line in a rap battle.

  Or a phony deodorant.

  Or a nasty person2person page.

  A person2person page. So much better than a Burn Book. Burn Books are for the dark ages. This is the brave new world of technology.

  Smelly-Girl.

  • • •

  It was harder than she thought and it took a lot more time. Filling in all the details, status, life events, location. Yanking photos off the Internet. But at least she had the real picture that Ethan had e-mailed her so no one would mistake who Smelly-Girl really was.

  Angelica had gone home early after her husband called to say a huge tree was down and blocking her normal route. Maggie’s mother was downstairs trying to cook. The TV news weather forecasters were behaving like actors with their first big movie break. And Maggie worked diligently and with such focus, she hardly heard the rain, she could hardly remember why she had begun this project in the first place.

  Friends was the hardest. Making up enough other false person2person people so that the Smelly-Girl page looked legit and funny. She fou
nd photos of dogs and other things that smelled and linked their pages until Smelly-Girl had twelve friends.

  “I’ll be down in a minute,” Maggie called to her mom.

  “Better hurry. I made lasagna and it’s hot.”

  Likes.

  Maggie found funny person2person pages for Smelly-Girl to “like.” Stinky Fish Grill. StinkyFeet Band. Stinky Water bath products.

  Her mother called up the stairs again, the lights flickered, and Maggie pressed POST.

  Sometime in the middle of dinner, Maggie changed her mind. It was all over the news all the time, wasn’t it? Cyber-bullying. Internet predators. They always got caught. No one understood and they looked like the bad guy.

  “I sure hope we don’t lose power,” Maggie’s mother said.

  Maggie stood up from the table and the lights flickered again. “I gotta run upstairs and do something.”

  “Maggie, sit down,” Maggie’s mother said. “How often do you have a homemade meal? Relax. Have you thought about what you are wearing to your first dance?”

  Dance? No, Maggie hadn’t thought about that at all. She took the stairs two at a time. She flipped open her laptop and watched her screen come up. She frantically opened to person2person just as the power went out. Electricity. Water. Cable. Modem. Internet.

  All over town. All over the state. For a full ten and a half days.

  WHO’S TOP DOG NOW?

  * * *

  Just because the Israelites took forty years to cross the desert doesn’t mean I can live without the Internet for one second longer and, frankly, I have no idea what my dad is talking about anyway.

  So what’s the worst part?