Part Two: Spring
Sixteen
In southern Ohio, spring comes fairly
early. So by mid-May—the time for the Niagara Falls trip—the weather was often
fairly balmy and pleasant … when it wasn’t pouring rain.
Not much worth writing about had
really happened in the months since the science fair back in late November. I
went to school, did my homework quickly, read as much as I could (I was nearing
the end of the complete works of Mary Shelley), spent lots of hours in my
basement laboratory, talked with Gil and Harriet on the phone—or at school. Had
quiet meals with Father. Worried constantly.
About Gil, of course.
He was missing school more and more
often, and when he did come, it was almost as if I could see his decline. He was changing, almost daily. He was thinner,
whiter. His eyes seemed like small black stones on a bright white page.
Of course, no one else really
noticed these changes—no one other than Harriet, who knew how I felt about him
and was incredibly compassionate during this period. Otherwise, though, Gil was
just not on other kids’ radar, not at all. In fact, after the science fair,
some had even asked me who that Gil kid was.
That’s how unnoticeable he was.
And as for that panicky sixth grade
girl who had run into the gym and screamed Her
homework ate my dog!
Well, she was right, kind of.
Her project had been to bake and
decorate cookies in the shapes of familiar southern Ohio mammals. She had actually
done a pretty good job—I mean, there aren’t many cookie-cutters in the shape of
a possum. So she (and her parents?) had made their own cutters. Had done all the
baking and decorating.
Well, what had happened is this: After
the parents and guests had finished touring the exhibits and were assembling in
the gym for the awards, Eddie Peacock had sneaked back to our display, stolen some
of our refrigerator goop, and put some on other kids’ projects, including the head
of a little dog that sixth grade girl had baked—a cute little terrier that had curlicues
of cocoanut shavings sprinkled around to serve as the fur. I found out later
that the little girl actually owned a
dog that looked like that, so what happened with the goop was even more
traumatic for her.
Still, the dog-cookie looked pretty
good. But the nasty goop had eaten a hole in its head. So it looked like a cute
dog with a gross head. Remember that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark when the Nazis’ faces melted? Sort of the
same thing. But with a cute little dog.
Anyway, no one believed that Gil
and I had been stupid enough to sabotage other kids’ projects—especially ones
that weren’t any threat to us. And Eddie was a terrible liar, so as soon as Mr.
Gisborne asked him about it, he turned bright red and said it hadn’t been his
idea. But since he was the only one who’d done it, that excuse didn’t seem too
sturdy.
Eddie Peacock spent three days at
home as a result—a punishment which I think he kind of liked. And although his
accusation had ruined the excitement of our winning the science fair prize that
night, the word of our innocence spread quickly. Though no one really cared. In
fact, I think Gil and I would have been celebrated more if we really had
messed up that girl’s cookies. So our victory remained among those achievements
that earn no one any celebrity. When I walked down the halls in the days
afterwards, no one said a thing to me
about it. And if you ever look in your school’s trophy case, you won’t see a
lot of science fair trophies I bet.
Which was fine with me, really. I
didn’t want the honor, the celebration. I wanted Gil Bysshe to be able to see
Niagara Falls. And that was it.
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