rushing up to meet me. My world was sideways.
Someone ran past, almost tripping on my legs. I glimpsed a corona of curly white hair and a human figure in dark blue, in between the unbearably bright spots floating in front of my eyes. Another moment and even those miniature suns turned the color of midnight.
AGE TEN
Granddad was staring at me. He was impatient.
But I had to concentrate. This was
crucial.
“I think,” I said, “I’m gonna have the Boom Blast.”
“That’s what you told me before we sat down,” said Granddad.
“I know, I know,” I said. The Boom Blast had chocolate brownie and chocolate ice cream and salted peanuts. I liked all three things. The Boom Blast was what I always pictured in my head whenever somebody said the word “dessert.” I hadn’t had one since my last birthday. That had also been right here at Farrelly’s, not in this same booth but in the one across the room. A fat kid in a green sweater was sitting in that spot tonight.
I’d been thinking about the Boom Blast all week. Although I really wished Farrelly’s were just a plain old diner. It was a little stupid, with bright red vinyl booths and cartoon farm animals on the walls and everything striped like candy canes. I wouldn’t have wanted to come back if it weren’t for the you-know-what.
But then, on the big plastic menu with the pictures of every dish, there was something new. The Avalanche. Three kinds of ice cream
and
whipped cream
and
cherries
and
your choice of sprinkles. Gargantuan. That was what Davey would have said.
Granddad raised a hand, and one of the waiters in the candy-cane shirts hurried over. Granddad could always do that, have someone run right over to help him, without him even saying anything. It was cool.
He ordered a dish of mint chocolate chip for himself and the Boom Blast for me. For an instant I thought of changingmy order—again—but I really didn’t like cherries, and the Avalanche had those. Even if I picked them off, I might still taste them. Stick to the plan.
Granddad sipped his coffee. “Mrs. Stark tells me you’re doing better with your spelling.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Like I had a choice. Mrs. Stark was a buster. Another of Davey’s words. If I got behind again and failed another quiz, she’d be on the phone to Granddad in ten seconds.
“How’s social studies?” said Granddad.
Uh-oh.
Did he know somehow? “It’s okay.”
It really was, even though I hadn’t done the homework last week and Mr. Smithson wouldn’t let me make it up. I was doing good on all the tests this semester. I knew that my grade wasn’t on a shit slope. But if Granddad learned about the homework, he’d be pissed.
Maybe even pissed enough to skip our Saturday lessons and make me do extra chores instead. When I’d been caught at the 7-Eleven instead of in class last year, he’d canceled our Saturdays for a whole month. And I really wanted some more practice on that five-pin Yale lock. I knew I could beat it.
“Mr. Smithson sent me a note,” Granddad said, “asking if you and I wanted to book time with the school counselor.”
I almost fell back against the bench with relief. So that was all it was.
“Did he mention your mother again?” Granddad said.
“No.” And he hadn’t. Not since that one time.
On the first Wednesday of the school year, Smithson had kept me after class. I was more confused than freaked. I couldn’t be busted
already
, right? I waited at his small, banged-up desk at the front of the classroom.
Smithson asked the last student out to shut the door.
“I was one of your mother’s teachers, you know,” he had said. “A long time ago.”
No
shit,
I’d thought. Back when my mom was my age? That had to be fifteen or sixteen years. I wondered what she’d looked like. Did Smithson know she was dead?
“She was a good student,” he said. “I’m happy to have another Shaw in my class.”
I nodded. Smithson was definitely old enough. The little halo of
Someone ran past, almost tripping on my legs. I glimpsed a corona of curly white hair and a human figure in dark blue, in between the unbearably bright spots floating in front of my eyes. Another moment and even those miniature suns turned the color of midnight.
AGE TEN
Granddad was staring at me. He was impatient.
But I had to concentrate. This was
crucial.
“I think,” I said, “I’m gonna have the Boom Blast.”
“That’s what you told me before we sat down,” said Granddad.
“I know, I know,” I said. The Boom Blast had chocolate brownie and chocolate ice cream and salted peanuts. I liked all three things. The Boom Blast was what I always pictured in my head whenever somebody said the word “dessert.” I hadn’t had one since my last birthday. That had also been right here at Farrelly’s, not in this same booth but in the one across the room. A fat kid in a green sweater was sitting in that spot tonight.
I’d been thinking about the Boom Blast all week. Although I really wished Farrelly’s were just a plain old diner. It was a little stupid, with bright red vinyl booths and cartoon farm animals on the walls and everything striped like candy canes. I wouldn’t have wanted to come back if it weren’t for the you-know-what.
But then, on the big plastic menu with the pictures of every dish, there was something new. The Avalanche. Three kinds of ice cream
and
whipped cream
and
cherries
and
your choice of sprinkles. Gargantuan. That was what Davey would have said.
Granddad raised a hand, and one of the waiters in the candy-cane shirts hurried over. Granddad could always do that, have someone run right over to help him, without him even saying anything. It was cool.
He ordered a dish of mint chocolate chip for himself and the Boom Blast for me. For an instant I thought of changingmy order—again—but I really didn’t like cherries, and the Avalanche had those. Even if I picked them off, I might still taste them. Stick to the plan.
Granddad sipped his coffee. “Mrs. Stark tells me you’re doing better with your spelling.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Like I had a choice. Mrs. Stark was a buster. Another of Davey’s words. If I got behind again and failed another quiz, she’d be on the phone to Granddad in ten seconds.
“How’s social studies?” said Granddad.
Uh-oh.
Did he know somehow? “It’s okay.”
It really was, even though I hadn’t done the homework last week and Mr. Smithson wouldn’t let me make it up. I was doing good on all the tests this semester. I knew that my grade wasn’t on a shit slope. But if Granddad learned about the homework, he’d be pissed.
Maybe even pissed enough to skip our Saturday lessons and make me do extra chores instead. When I’d been caught at the 7-Eleven instead of in class last year, he’d canceled our Saturdays for a whole month. And I really wanted some more practice on that five-pin Yale lock. I knew I could beat it.
“Mr. Smithson sent me a note,” Granddad said, “asking if you and I wanted to book time with the school counselor.”
I almost fell back against the bench with relief. So that was all it was.
“Did he mention your mother again?” Granddad said.
“No.” And he hadn’t. Not since that one time.
On the first Wednesday of the school year, Smithson had kept me after class. I was more confused than freaked. I couldn’t be busted
already
, right? I waited at his small, banged-up desk at the front of the classroom.
Smithson asked the last student out to shut the door.
“I was one of your mother’s teachers, you know,” he had said. “A long time ago.”
No
shit,
I’d thought. Back when my mom was my age? That had to be fifteen or sixteen years. I wondered what she’d looked like. Did Smithson know she was dead?
“She was a good student,” he said. “I’m happy to have another Shaw in my class.”
I nodded. Smithson was definitely old enough. The little halo of
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