The Planet of Junior Brown by Virginia Hamilton Page A

“You needed your rest,” she said.
    Junior’s hunger lay curled like a warm ache from his core. He burned from a great distance. He was a lonely star.

5
    THIS MONDAY MORNING was no different for Buddy than any other Monday. He was by himself and ready for the day. He had slept all day Saturday and all day Sunday. Saturday night he had looked in on Nightman and Franklin and had taken care of them the way he knew how. The boys were getting along together. Nightman was developing a keen eye. He had found a fantastic spindle of green butcher’s string in an alley.
    â€œI make out how it must’ve fallen offen a truck,” he told Buddy. The spindle was cream colored, huge and heavy, and made from wood. The green string was wound on it half a foot thick.
    â€œMan,” Buddy told him, “I bet that spindle is some kind of antique. I bet some antique shop in the Village would pay good money for it.”
    Nightman had looked shocked, clutching the spindle tighter in his arms. He wouldn’t allow Franklin or Buddy to touch it. “I found it, so it’s mine, isn’t it?” he asked Buddy.
    â€œIt’s yours,” Buddy told him, “if you can think of something to do with it. Otherwise it’s dead weight and useless. We’ll have to sell it for the money. The string ain’t worth a thing.”
    Nightman studied the string, touching it with his hands. Finding the string end, he unwound some of it, lacing it through his delicate fingers.
    â€œI know it’s good for something,” he said. “Now if I could just think what could be that something.”
    â€œLet’s set a time,” Buddy had told him. “Let’s say about Wednesday.”
    â€œA time for what?” Nightman had wanted to know.
    â€œWhen you have to think of something else or I will sell the spindle for the money.”
    â€œLet him have until Friday,” Franklin had said. “Give us some time to look around and see what we can do with it.”
    â€œWe won’t do anything with it,” Nightman said, “because I got to do it all by myself.”
    â€œYou can have Franklin help you, it’s all right,” Buddy told him.
    â€œI do it by myself, or you can have the whole thing right now,” Nightman said. Stubbornly he had clutched the spindle of string. Then he thrust it toward Buddy.
    â€œYou keep it,” Buddy had said. He had pushed the spindle back into Nightman’s lap. “You keep it and you figure out what to do with it all by yourself.”
    Buddy had not seen Junior Brown for the whole weekend. This Monday morning he didn’t feel like going by Junior’s house, he told himself. So he went on to school alone. When he arrived in the basement room, he found Junior already there and Mr. Pool there, with the solar system full of juice and turning silently through the void.
    Not so silently. There was a piercing squeak somewhere, a high scraping sound like metal grating against metal. As the planets revolved, Mr. Pool tried to pinpoint the squeak. When he thought he had it, he turned off the solar system. He pulled a ladder over and set it up by the planets. Then he climbed up and cleaned all of the tracks from which the rods were suspended.
    â€œThere. That ought to do it,” Mr. Pool said when he was finished. He shoved the ladder away into the void and turned on the solar system. The squeak remained.
    Buddy laughed. He came around the planets to where Junior was slumped in his folding chair. Buddy didn’t say anything; he just stood quietly behind Junior’s chair. This way he let Junior know they were together. And together they both watched the system.
    The planet of Junior Brown soon became a giant presence in the darkness. The solar system became all and mighty in the void. Except for the squeak.
    Mr. Pool’s bald head glowed yellowish in the light of the system’s dim reflection.
    â€œDamn it all to