Mixed up, p.16
Mixed Up, page 16
“Whoa!” he exclaims. “What brought that on?”
“Nothing,” I mumble. “Have a great day, Dad.”
“Yeah, you too, Theo.” He gets into the car, but stops at the end of the driveway and rolls down his window. “Careful on the bike. I think it might storm later.”
“Really?” I gulp. “I haven’t checked the weather.”
I take my time riding to Breezeway at three thirty. Open School Night doesn’t start until seven, so there’s no ticking clock. Also, we can’t do anything until the lightning starts, and so far, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. If the storm of the century is really coming, it’s counting on the element of surprise.
By the time I get to the Helmer house, Reef and Declan have already been home almost an hour. Reef has three T-shirts for us, smuggled via Portia. They’re bright blue—school colors—with the message: LEARNING IS A DELGADO ADVENTURE.
Declan makes a face when he sees them. “Why do schools always say ‘learning’ like it’s something to be proud of? Don’t they know most kids run a mile when they hear that word?”
“This is what the student volunteers are going to be wearing tonight,” Reef explains. “If we’re in these shirts, nobody will ask any questions, like ‘Where are you going with that bouncy castle?’ ”
I shrug into my T-shirt. “It’s all good.” Or at least as good as it can be when you’re about to play patty-cake with a thunderbolt.
“Good?” Declan echoes. “Look at that blue sky! How are we supposed to get lightning out of that? The only thing missing is a palm tree and a tiki hut!”
“The weather forecast hasn’t changed,” I insist. “It’s coming. My dad even warned me to be careful on my bike because it’s going to get stormy.”
Jenna makes us an early dinner of sandwiches and potato chips, since we’re going to be “on duty” at the school. She’s pretty thrilled about that, and takes dozens of pictures of us in our “Learning” T-shirts.
“Cut it out, Mom,” Declan barks. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in this thing. I’m only wearing it because …” His voice trails off.
“Because you have such great school spirit,” Reef finishes the sentence for him.
Jenna isn’t quite sure how I fit in, but she treats me like I’m part of the family. Maybe she thinks I’m the reason Reef and her son Declan are getting along so well now.
We’re back upstairs when Portia calls me. She’s at Delgado already, helping to set up for Open School Night. There are a lot of voices in the background, and plenty of noise, so it’s hard to hear her.
“Theo, this is important. We’ve got a problem.”
“What problem?” I ask anxiously.
“It’s not good,” she informs me. “Listen—”
The strident voice of a teacher breaks in. “Portia, get off the phone! We need your help here!”
“Call me back,” I request urgently.
“I don’t know if I can,” she replies. “My phone is at three percent.”
“Portia!” the teacher exclaims.
With a click, Portia’s gone.
“Problem?” That’s the one word Declan took from the conversation. “What problem?”
“She couldn’t say,” I report. “Some teacher needed her. She’s going to try to call back, but her phone is dying.”
We wait—ten minutes, then twenty. No Portia. I try her number. Straight to voice mail.
“And this girl gets straight As?” Declan raves. “What’s the point of being smart if you don’t know enough to charge your phone when you’ve got a long night coming up?”
“Maybe it’s no big deal,” Reef muses.
“She said problem,” I reason. “That’s never great. Maybe we should head over there.”
“In these shirts?” Declan is horrified. “They’ll make us work!”
We hang around another ten minutes, hoping that Portia can borrow someone else’s phone and let us know what we’re up against. Nothing. Finally, we’ve got no choice but to go to Delgado, find Portia, and face our “problem,” whatever it is.
Before we leave, Jenna makes us pose for more pictures. I guess when your kid is Declan, and he’s doing something at his school that isn’t stealing the principal’s pocketbook, you want to capture the moment forever.
“Enough, Mom!” he grouses, heading out the door.
But Reef lingers around Jenna. I think he’s feeling what I felt leaving my own home—that maybe he won’t be back. Jenna may not be his mother, but she sure came up big for him when he needed it.
The sky is still clear during our walk to school, and Declan is convinced that Portia’s call was to warn us that we won’t be getting our storm.
“Yes, we will,” I insist.
But even I’m starting to wonder. You can’t have a storm without at least a few clouds, and there just aren’t any. We’re only a block from school when a gray weather front appears on the horizon. Once it’s there, though, it races across the sky, blotting out the sun. A stiff breeze comes up from the west, sending leaves and dust swirling. Thirty feet from the front entrance, we feel the first raindrops.
“It’s about time!” Declan growls at the heavens.
Be careful what you wish for. As if on cue, a sudden drenching rain comes down in sheets. We barely manage to scramble indoors before getting soaked.
Delgado’s halls are already pretty crowded. I’m surprised by how many parents, grandparents, and siblings are here. Portia’s right—Open School Night is a big deal. The corridors echo with laughter and animated conversation and the rapid-fire putt-putt-putt of a motor that’s strangely familiar.
The double doors of the gym are propped open, revealing the bouncy castle in all its bright yellow glory. Little kids are climbing, jumping, sliding, and scrambling around to join the end of the line to climb, jump, and slide again.
Declan is outraged. “That’s our bouncy castle!”
“They knew they’d get families,” I reason. “It makes perfect sense that they’d set it up for the younger sibs.”
“Just our luck!” Declan laments. “How are we going to drag that thing up to the roof when it’s full of kids?”
I’m trying to stay calm. “Well, obviously, we’re going to have to find a substitute.”
At that moment, Portia comes up behind us, wide-eyed and breathing hard. “Sorry, my phone died. What are we going to do?”
“Any chance the school has a backup bouncy castle?” I’m joking, but nobody laughs, not even me.
“Can we try it without the bouncy castle?” Reef suggests.
“Only if we want to get burned to a crisp,” I reply grimly. “Surely there’s something else we can drag up there—something that isn’t metal that will fit inside the cupola.”
The answer comes from, of all people, Declan. “My science class did a space unit where we went into this black tent and there were stars on the ceiling.”
“The planetarium!” Reef exclaims in a hushed voice. “That’ll fit, won’t it?”
“I think they keep it in the storeroom in the science wing,” Portia says. “Follow me.”
She leads us through the crowded corridors up the stairs to the science hall on the second floor. I like Portia a lot, but when you’re trying to avoid attracting attention, she’s just about the worst guide anybody could ever have. She’s friends with basically everybody, and no one can seem to pass her by without checking in. I get a lot of strange looks and keep my head down to avoid having to explain who I am and what I’m doing there in a Delgado T-shirt.
There are two science labs, and both are full of people watching students performing chemistry and physics demonstrations. The storeroom sits between the two. We barge in, hoping our T-shirts make it look like we’re on official Open School Night business.
The planetarium has been struck down and packed away in a carrying case about the size of a large backpack. I throw it over my shoulder and then we venture out into the Open School Night crowd again, with Portia greeting the same friends, this time heading in the opposite direction.
As we slip through the door into the upstairs maintenance office, I know a moment of uncertainty. It would only take one custodian to throw a monkey wrench into this entire operation. Four sighs of relief sound as the door closes behind us. We’re alone. All the maintenance staff are on duty throughout the building. When the school is filled with hundreds of visitors, nobody worries about what’s happening on the roof.
The packed planetarium is a lot easier to handle than the bouncy castle and compressor—which turns out to be a good news–bad news kind of thing. Up in the blowing wind and rain of the cupola, we open the backpack only to find a pile of plastic tentpoles and miles of thick black fabric. An instruction sheet declares: DELUXE PLANETARIUM—SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED.
“Some assembly?” Declan rages into the storm. “Some? What kind of cheapo school buys a rip-off planetarium from Ikea?”
“Let’s just build it,” Reef says through clenched teeth. “What choice do we have?”
We have to insert the poles into the fabric while the howling wind threatens to hurl the whole business off the roof, us included. It isn’t heavy, but it’s a strenuous job, since you have to hang on to the fabric and position the poles, while at the same time stepping on the base to keep it from flying away. All this while taking a faceful of battering rain.
While we’re working, I catch a very recent memory from Reef from just a few minutes ago—planetarium construction from a different angle: This isn’t worth it.
“Yes, it is,” I tell him, and he knows exactly what I mean.
When we’re finally finished, a new problem emerges. Unlike the inflatable bouncy castle, the base of this planetarium is a thin sheet of vinyl. There’s no way it’s enough insulation to protect us from a lightning strike.
“You mean we can’t use it?” Declan shrills in horror. “After all our hard work?”
“We need thicker protection under us,” I insist. “Something plastic or rubber maybe.”
“How about the gymnastics mats from PE?” Reef suggests. “We could stack a few on the floor of the tent.”
Portia shakes her head. “Too risky. Those mats are held together by metal staples that might conduct electricity. We need something that’s pure nonconductor, like rubber tires.”
Declan is sarcastic. “Oh, no problem, then! Don’t all middle schools keep whole storerooms of tires just in case somebody needs to get struck by lightning?”
“The playground!” Reef exclaims excitedly. “The tire swing has a giant truck tire that’s big enough for two people to sit on!”
Our missions are set: Reef, Declan, and I will head out to the playground for the tire, while Portia ventures down to the gym storeroom to recover the chain of copper hangers to connect us to the lightning rod. Before exiting the maintenance office, I pull a hacksaw off a rack of tools and hide it under my shirt.
Outside, the rain has slackened a little, but the lightning has begun. I take a moment to count the seconds between each flash and the clap of thunder that follows. One … two … three … four … That means the center of the storm is only four miles away. We don’t have much time.
At the playground, the tire swing hangs in the center of the jungle gym, suspended via three stout ropes. I cut through the ropes with the hacksaw, and the heavy wheel thumps to the sand.
It takes all our strength to pick the tire off the ground, but once we stand it upright, we can roll it. That’s what we do—we maneuver it across the schoolyard like a giant hoop, and direct it into the building, entering via a side stairwell. Then comes the hard part, dragging it up the steps. Declan and I push from behind, with Reef in front, stabilizing and guiding. The three of us know that if we ever lose control of this thing, Declan and I will end up at the bottom of the stairs, flat as pancakes.
By this time, Open School Night is in full swing, and we attract a lot of attention rolling a giant wet tire down the second-floor hall.
“Excuse me,” Reef says, directing people out of our way. “School project coming through.” The crowd parts to let us pass.
Declan is impressed. “Adults are such idiots! All you have to say is ‘school project’ and they’ll let you get away with anything! You could bring a nuclear warhead in here and nobody would give you a hard time!”
He insists on switching places with Reef, so he can take the lead, chirping the magic words, “Make way for the school project … Serious students here … Learning is a Delgado adventure … Yikes!”
The tire comes to an abrupt halt, and I rear-end it with my face. I’ve never met Principal Latimore before, but I recognize her immediately via Reef’s memories. She’s tall and slender, and when she talks to you, it’s from a great height because she wears five-inch stiletto heels. I duck behind the tire so she won’t see a non-student wearing a Delgado T-shirt and ask too many nosy questions I have no answers for.
“It’s wonderful to see you taking an interest in school activities, Declan,” she declares. “What’s the project? What are you studying?”
Declan has absolutely no idea. All he can stammer is, “Uh—tires?”
Reef steps forward. “It’s for the electricity demonstration in the science lab. You know—how rubber is the best insulator?”
She beams. “Very good. I hope you have a successful demonstration.”
“Us too,” Declan tells her.
Amen, I add silently. If this “demonstration” is unsuccessful, I don’t want to think about what it means for Reef and me.
When the principal clicks away, we roll the tire into the upstairs maintenance office and slam the door.
Portia is waiting for us, holding on to the string of bent copper hangers. “What took you guys so long?”
“You try dragging a humongous tire all over the place,” Declan retorts. “We just ran into Latimore out there. We got away with it, but that’s not going to last when she looks at the playground tomorrow and wonders why there’s no tire swing.”
It takes all four of us, with much effort and grunting, to roll the heavy tire around the circular stairs to the open air of the cupola. A loud clap of thunder makes us jump, and we very nearly lose control of the tire. But we manage to shove it up the final steps into the well of the cupola. Portia holds open the flap of the planetarium, and we heave the tire inside. When the heavy rubber hits bottom, it shakes the wooden structure—or maybe it’s the thunder, which is still echoing around us.
“The storm must be really close,” Reef comments in a small voice.
I attach one end of the cable of hangers to the lightning rod and stretch the other in through the flap, resting it on the tire.
Portia looks torn. “I know it’s what we worked for, but are you guys sure you want to go through with this?”
Reef and I share a meaningful glance. Portia’s new to the Phenomenon, but the two of us have been living it for months. Do we want to? Absolutely not. Do we have to? Nothing has ever been so certain.
“Let’s do it,” I tell her.
Declan’s face is pale, and he nods as if to convince himself it’s the only way.
Reef and I are about to crawl into the planetarium when the sound reaches us. It’s faint amid the howl of the wind and the rumble of thunder, but there’s no mistaking it—a door slamming below us.
“Hide!” hisses Declan.
It could not be more obvious that there’s nowhere to hide. There’s only the planetarium … and that’s no place to be unless you’re trying to get struck by lightning.
Filled with dread, the four of us stand there, waiting for the vibration of footfalls on the metal of the circular stairs. It doesn’t come. I tiptoe down the cupola steps and peer through the open trapdoor. Nobody’s there.
“Maybe it was a car door out in the parking lot,” I offer with a shrug.
A fork of lightning is followed instantly by a deafening boom. The storm is right overhead. It’s now or never.
Declan and Portia move closer, and it seems like we’re in for some kind of emotional farewell. After all, this goodbye might be permanent.
Please don’t let me cry, I exhort myself. The thought brings on a brief snapshot from Reef’s funeral memories. I’m grateful that I’m the one forced to see it, not him. This moment is tough enough.
Then it’s over. Reef and I climb into the planetarium and perch on the giant tire. For better or worse, this is happening. We’re newborns again, huddled together in our incubator.
Declan and Portia stand there, peering in at us like we’re a museum exhibit they’ve waited a lifetime to see.
“Go!” Reef snaps at them. “Get downstairs, away from here!”
Still they stay, until another thunderclap sends them scurrying.
The wind ruffles the tent fabric, moving the cable of copper hangers a little closer to me. Instinctively, I shuffle away from it along the tire, as if another few inches might make a difference when there are three hundred million volts surging through that thing.
Through the flap, I watch Declan and Portia disappear into the trapdoor to the maintenance office below.
“At least they’re safe,” I tell Reef.
My words hang in the air. You definitely can’t say that about us.
The next thing I know, Declan and Portia are climbing up to the roof again, followed by a third figure. I crawl forward on the tire for a better view, but my arm makes contact with the hangers and I jump back like I’ve been burned.
“Latimore …” Reef breathes.
Delgado’s principal is in a towering rage. “Have you lost your minds?” she demands. “What on earth are you doing with our planetarium in the middle of this storm? Why are you on the roof at all?”
Declan starts babbling about a school project since that’s what worked before. The principal silences him with a scorching look.
Her furious gaze shifts to me. “Who are you? You’re not one of my students!”
“I’m Theo—”
Reef’s voice is shaking, but his determination never wavers. “Sorry, Principal Latimore, but we have to do this. You can suspend us tomorrow, even expel us—”
