It Was September When We Ran Away the First Time - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

D. James Smith lives in California, where he studied with poet Philip Levine. A recipient of a fellowship in creative writing from the National Endowment for the Arts, his work appears frequently in literary magazines, most recently, The Amherst Review, New Millennium Writings, the Notre Dame Review, and Stand. His previous books include a collection of poems, Prayers for the Dead Ventriloquist, and an adult novel, My Brother's Passion.

His novels for younger readers are Fast Company and his first book about Paolo and friends, The Boys of San Joaquin.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

24.

"Okay, sweetheart," Miss Farisi says to Georgie, winding her tape measure back around her hand, "you can step down." Of course, he about faints off that table, going limp, me having to help him to stand. Can't say a thing he's so bug-eyed in love with his teacher. She doesn't seem to notice or else is used to everyone half-mad for her. She hasn't even scolded him for being all ash-sooty.

We are in her kitchen, sitting round a table with a red and white checkered Italian tablecloth. Billy is sitting across from Veronica just looking at her, Luke is sort of watching the both of them, and I'm standing, holding Georgie up, but mostly watching Miss Farisi. She reminds me of a doe I saw one morning in a cornfield stepping high and dainty, nuzzling dew and sunlight from those stalks. Once it saw me it looked at me with its eyes the size of ripe avocados for one long moment, and then it just floated away, legs of smoke, gone. But Miss Farisi is all of her standing there in her loose white blouse and her dungarees and little red canvas shoes and is letting us get as much of her close up as our eyes can hold.

"Okay, boys, can you get that chicken wire I have on the back porch?" she says. Luke and I and Georgie scramble out of there like we are doing a fire drill, smashing one another in the doorway and snatching that roll and fighting to haul it in. Billy doesn't move.

Miss Farisi lifts Georgie back onto the table and starts mashing that chicken wire in all manner of directions, making a cannon of some of it to stick off the square part of it that is supposed to be the tank body part. She has the tip of her tongue bit in her teeth and tiny beads of perspiration forming above her lip. She leaves a slit in the back of the contraption so's he can climb in and out of it once it's all done.

She works; we watch. She says, "Isn't it nice that Veronica came by, boys?"

Sure, we all nod. Who knew they were friends?

"Of course, now you're here, there won't be any more girl talk."

Veronica drops her eyes.

Billy's eyes go down too.

Luke watches them. He looks like he feels sorry for them.

"Miss Farisi," Georgie says, kind of stunned, what with being so close to her. "Once we get the plaster of Paris on this... can we paint it?"

"I certainly would say so. Green. And we'll put a white American star on it too." She smiles at him.

That sends him wobbling round the moon once or twice. I get ready to catch him if he decides to come out of orbit in my direction.

Rufus, who is in the kitchen with us 'cause Miss Farisi is the only adult nice enough to let him come indoors, comes up behind her and sniffs her lavender perfume and then lays himself down, looking up at her, tail thumping the floor.

"Veronica," I think to say, polite, "have you got your costume yet?"

She looks at me. Eyes like night sky with little stars.

Luke speaks for her. "We don't have Halloween. I'm going 'cause you guys are. Sammy Woo goes because he's more American than Chinese."

"Yeah, but Monsignor made the carnival for everybody," I say.

"He made it Chinese Lantern Night since it already was that. We don't have to do trick-or-treating."

"Who'd miss out on that?" I say.

The Jensens, Billy signs like he's trying to tell me it's okay if American-Chinese persons aren't the only ones that might not go trick-or-treating.

Miss Farisi looks at me with her eyebrows raised Mrs. Ogilbee-style, so I know I'm to translate and tell about the Jensens, how we don't think they do Halloween on account they probably can't afford costumes, so I do.

"I think those boys have more worries right now than Halloween," she answers to that, concern in her voice. She and Veronica give a quick look at each other, and I wonder what all they've been talking about.

"You know the Jensens, Miss Farisi?" I ask. "I mean to talk to?"

"They aren't two who are much for talking," she says, her attention back on arranging Georgie in his chicken wire. She has one of her arms in there up to its elbow, sort of stuffing him this way and that, getting the shape of the thing proper and tight. "Maybe it's for the best they aren't going, since you don't get along, anyway." Her lips are mashed thin with concentrating.

My head snaps round at that, over to Billy, back up to Miss Farisi. "You know anything about Edgar and Jeffers we ought to know?" It comes out of me honest and without my thinking, and I see Miss Farisi is a person maybe I trust. We all trust. It occurs to me how all of us are there in her kitchen like family, and I think she is going to be a number one Italian-American mom to somebody someday.

"Well," she says, "I know Jeffers Jensen has an awful crush on Veronica." She lets that sink in some, not looking at anyone or anything except Georgie's cage. "Honestly, he came by my room to ask more questions about girls than he probably has asked about anything in his entire life."

My mouth is dry and drops open as slow as if it's chock-full of peanut butter. Veronica blushes. Billy looks at me as if to be sure he's understood the lips of what Miss Farisi's saying and I nod, Yes, slow, back at him.

"I realize a teacher doesn't go around telling what a student confides in her, but I am doing just that and for a reason. I feel there is a danger for you boys, and I mean all of you, including Jeffers and Edgar. You could get hurt if you all don't put a stop to this nonsense. I didn't like the anger in Jeffers's voice when he spoke to me, and I told him so. Told him when one is hurt by love it doesn't give you the right to hurt anyone else." She pulls her arm out of Georgie's tank skeleton and lays her eyes on me. "Has anyone been hurt?"

I manage to close up my mouth and answer right back out of habit, I guess, like she is a teacher again, not anyone's Italian mom. "Nobody's been hurt."

"Well...that's what Veronica says too." Miss Farisi has some smart-aleck in her voice I never heard before.

Veronica isn't looking at anyone. My mind has started to trot hard and is about to break into a gallop. Is this why the Jensens have been dogging us? I thought they had a problem with Veronica being with Billy 'cause she was Chinese. That don't make sense if Jeffers wants to be Billy and have his girl sweet on himself. Does Miss Farisi know how much has been going on? If she did, she'd be more than just irritated. Does...

"Hey!" Georgie hops sideways on the table. "Ouch!"

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry," says Miss Farisi. It looks as if Georgie's got stuck in the butt with some pointy bit of chicken wire. He's grabbing his cheeks back there. She turns him round to inspect on the area closely, then just yanks his pants and his underpants down in one motion, pushes round with her thumbs, yanks his pants and all back up in one motion, and says, "No blood. No damage. Sorry, kiddo, I am not paying attention to what I am doing."

Georgie is frozen stuck, can't speak or move, except for his eyes that are pointed at the ceiling, tracing back and forth in an arc. It's just more than his brain can process. The whole room is quiet except for Miss Farisi bending chicken wire. Nobody says anything. Then, to rescue him maybe, Miss Farisi asks, "And...and so what exactly is Chinese Lantern Night, Luke?"

Still no one speaks. Miss Farisi whips her head around at us and cocks her head, quizzical.

That's when Veronica's voice comes, soft, "It's a very old tradition," she says.

Luke flicks his eyes over to her, opens his mouth to speak, thinks otherwise. Lets her tell it.

We all look at her. She has her head still partly down and seems to be talking to the table. "The Chinese from around here come from a province that has always celebrated it."

"What're they celebrating?" I ask, my mind needing the story, needing its distraction, needing time to understand all...