Al Capone Shines My Shoes Page 11

  “Look, Scout, let’s put it this way.” I get my face right up close to his. “You kiss Piper and I don’t care if you’re my best friend—”

  “Hey now, don’t get yourself all worked up about that. I know Piper’s your puppy. But you gotta get a girl warmed up, you know.” He points to his chest. “I’m the fella for that job. You betcha.”

  I sigh, all the resistance drained out of me. “I dunno. She’s pretty mad at me. Did you see her?”

  “That’s because she likes you. That’s the way the pretty ones are, Moose. They get mad for all kinds of reasons you can’t figure out, so don’t be wasting your time trying.” He taps his finger to his lips. “That’s how you solve it right there.” Scout nods like he’s seen this all before.

  “Really? You think I should kiss her?”

  He sighs as if I’m a sorry specimen of mankind. “What do you think I’ve been telling you for the last five minutes? Now come on . . . let’s play.” He bounces forward down the hill to the parade grounds to wait for Annie, who shows up a few minutes later.

  “Piper’s sore at you,” Annie reports, slipping on her glove.

  “She’s always sore,” I say.

  “I mean really sore. She heard about the roses.”

  “How’d she find out?” I ask.

  Annie shrugs. “How’s she find out anything?”

  “There’s no reason for her to be mad about it anyways,” I tell her.

  Annie knocks on my skull. “Anybody home in there? You’re supposed to be her boyfriend, and you didn’t even get her a rose.”

  “Buddy, buddy, buddy.” Scout shakes his head. “You didn’t get her a rose?”

  “I’m not her boyfriend,” I insist.

  “Yeah well.” Annie seems to be enjoying this. “Not now you’re not. Jimmy’s mad at you too, you know.”

  “He sure is. Anybody could see that,” Scout agrees.

  “The trouble is—” Annie’s eyes nail me. “You can’t stand playing baseball with anyone who isn’t as good as you.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. “I’ve never said a word about the way Jimmy plays.”

  “You don’t have to,” Annie tells me. “One look at your face says it all.”

  “It does not.”

  “Does too.”

  “I play with you and you’re not better than I am.” I get right up close to say this.

  “Bets?”

  “Yeah, bets. Double bets. Triple bets.”

  “If I were a gambling man,” Scout hoots, “I’d put my money on Annie.”

  “Will you shut up?” I tell him as the sun dips behind a cloud and the parade grounds get dark. The gulls seem to react to this. They begin squawking as if to complain that someone turned the lights off.

  There aren’t enough players for a real game. So Annie pitches and Scout and I take turns at bat. Every time I get up there I hit so hard, I smack the ball to smithereens. I could take on the Babe today.

  “What got into Moose?” Scout asks Annie.

  “You just tell him he’s lousy,” Annie informs Scout, “and he gets like that.” She laughs.

  “Gonna remember that next time we need a homer,” Scout says.

  “Yeah,” Annie replies, “he’s kind of fun that way.”

  “Shut up, Annie,” I say, but now Scout is laughing too. “And stop ganging up on me,” I tell them both.

  “Poor Humpty Dumpty,” Annie says, throwing me one of her best pitches ever, and now I’m so mad I swing the bat so hard I miss.

  “Better go easy on him,” Scout tells her. “Or he’ll fall off the wall.”

  18.

  KISSING A DEAD SQUID

  Same day—Tuesday, August 27, 1935

  After Scout leaves, I drop my bat and ball at my house and head for the secret passageway, which I guess needs a new name now that it isn’t secret anymore. I’m still mad at Jimmy for telling Scout about this. I don’t understand why he did it. Why should I be punished for what Scout said? And the way Jimmy acted, it was like he was sure I’d tell Scout so he decided to do it first. What gave Jimmy the idea I had a big mouth? Just because I’m friends with Scout doesn’t mean I’m not Jimmy’s friend.

  I don’t have a screwdriver, but Jimmy didn’t put the screws back securely, so I jiggle them out with my bare fingers. Inside the dusty space I crawl all the way until I am under Mrs. Caconi’s apartment. My plan is to sit here and just think about all of this, but a minute later the door opens and a flash of light flickers at the other end. The door bangs shut. The passageway goes dark again.

  My stomach tightens. The hairs on my arm stand up. Just because there are convicts on this island doesn’t mean they’ll be under here. The only con that might have access is Seven Fingers.

  This does not make me feel better.

  It’s just Jimmy fooling on me, right? But the steady thumping of hands and knees and a metal clicking are coming my way.

  “Jimmy?” I whisper, my voice croaking.

  The sound stops. The person doesn’t answer and I realize with a start I’ve just given away my exact location. What an idiot! I scurry off in the opposite direction, when suddenly I see in the half darkness the dark hair and white-ribboned ponytail of Piper.

  “Scared you, didn’t I?” she whispers, continuing to move toward me. The metal clicking, I see now, is her ring as it hits the ground.

  “Of course not,” I tell her.

  “Liar! Jimmy told me you had to tell the truth in here,” she says.

  “All right, maybe a little,” I admit.

  She laughs softly, taunting me. She spits on her fingers, runs them through her hair, pushes a loose strand not held in her ponytail, hooks it behind her ear.

  “Don’t sit there,” I tell her. “Here’s better.” I pat the dirt next to me. “Not so many ants.”

  She crawls to where I’m sitting and settles comfortably by me.

  “What are you doing in here?” I ask.

  “What are you doing in here?” She throws the question back at me.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About you,” I say.

  “You shouldn’t think about me. I like Scout now in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I mutter. “I just don’t understand why everyone is mad at me.”

  “I’m the one who should have taken Rocky,” she says, our legs barely grazing each other.

  “Piper, that was two weeks ago and it wasn’t even my fault,” I tell her.

  “It’s only because I’m a girl.”

  “No, it’s because the Mattamans don’t trust you.”

  Piper ignores this. “You guys have it made. You get handed everything on a silver platter. It’s disgusting.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  She snorts. “I wish I was a boy,” she admits.

  “I don’t wish you were a boy. And nobody fawns over me,” I tell her.

  “Oh yes they do. Mrs. Bomini, Mrs. Mattaman, Theresa, Annie . . .”

  “Annie certainly doesn’t.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re all she ever talks about,” Piper insists.

  “Oh come on.” This makes no sense, but I’m not thinking of Annie right now. Piper is sitting so close to me. Her face is perfectly still. I smell her warm root beer breath.

  “How come you’re not jealous of Scout?” she asks.

  “I am jealous of Scout.”

  This perks her up. “You are?”

  Our legs are stretched out in front of us. My calf and hers are barely touching each other, but it feels like a live wire between us. Can she feel it? Or is it just me? It’s getting warmer down here. My ears are hot. I’m breathing like I just walked up the switchback. My mind is scrambling.

  She likes me. She just said she doesn’t. But Scout said she did.

  I like sitting so close to her. What should I do now? What was it Scout said about going in sideways? I can’t just up and kiss her . . . can I? You’re
not allowed to just kiss a girl, are you? Should I ask her? What if she says no? Why didn’t I ask Scout if you’re supposed to ask a girl before you kiss her?

  Her hand reaches up to my face. She gently brushes my lips, barely touching them.

  My head moves toward hers. How do you avoid nose crashes again? What did Scout say? I can hardly even see her lips it’s so dark down here.

  Her hair brushes against my arm. The smell of her baby oil and warm root beer fill my nose. Are you supposed to have your mouth open or closed? My teeth nick her lip.

  “Ouch!” someone yells.

  I jerk my head back.

  It takes a second for me to understand that it isn’t Piper yelling. It’s Theresa looming in the sudden flood of light from the crawlspace doorway. “Moose Flanagan!” Theresa cries. “You stop that right now!”

  “You little sneak!” Piper shouts.

  Theresa pushes inside. “Am not a sneak. I am supposed to find Moose!”

  “Get out!” Piper scurries toward Theresa, and Theresa jumps back out of the doorway and grabs the door to keep from falling.

  “Moose!” Theresa pleads, hopping around like her leg hurts.

  “Go play with someone your own age. Janet Trixle, for goodness’ sake. Why do you snoop on me?” Piper shouts.

  “I’m not snooping. I had to get Moose.” Theresa turns back to me. “Moose, c’mon. Annie needs you.”

  Piper snorts. “What did I tell you?” she whispers.

  “Annie, Moose!” Theresa tells me as if this explains everything.

  “Hey, look . . .” I’m crawling as fast as I can to the entrance. “Don’t do this, okay?” I tell Theresa. “I don’t want to be in the middle of this.”

  “There’s nothing to be in the middle of,” Piper shouts. She shoves me back and hops out the door. “Just leave me alone.”

  “Moose!” Theresa peers in at me. “What’s the matter with you? You were going to kiss her! I saw!”

  “I was not going to kiss her.”

  “You were! It’s sickening! Kissing Piper is like kissing a squid. A dead squid!”

  “Not exactly, no.”

  “No? This isn’t the first time! How many times have you kissed her, huh, Moose? How many?” Theresa’s hands are on her hips.

  “None. I mean . . .” I take a deep breath. “Nothing happened, okay, but look, this is not your business.” I crawl out the door.

  “Of course it is. I saved you. You owe me.”

  “Theresa, you’re only seven. When you get older you’ll understand.”

  “I already understand. My dad told me all about it. Wildness comes over teenagers like a disease and they go around kissing all over the place. They can’t help themselves. If you find yourself about to get smoochy, find Annie or, if you have to, me.

  “Oh boy.” She sighs, shaking her head and scolding me with her finger. “Wait until I tell Annie.”

  “Just keep your mouth shut about this, okay, Theresa?”

  Theresa nods her head as if I’ve finally said something that makes sense to her. “I’d be ashamed of myself too. Jeepers, Moose. Jeepers.”

  19.

  DRUNK IN THE GUARD TOWER

  Tuesday, September 3, 1935

  Today is my first day in eighth grade. I have Piper in three of my classes but she totally ignores me in school and on the way home too. I’m like a toad squashed flat on the street for all the attention she pays me. She is always a little mad, but this is worse than usual.

  Jimmy, Theresa, and Annie don’t start school until next week. St. Bridgette’s has less school days than Marina, which isn’t fair. Theresa has to go early for orientation and Mrs. Mattaman asked me if I would pick her up after school, so I walk all the way to St. Bridgette’s to get her. Theresa is so excited to be in “real school” that she jabbers my head off the whole way home.

  On the island, we head for the canteen, where we find Jimmy sitting at the counter, his head resting in his hands like he’s concentrating on something up close. He doesn’t even flinch when the bell on the canteen door rings.

  Since what happened with the secret passageway, it has been uncomfortable between Jimmy and me. What isn’t said sits like a piece of dog crap between us. I wish it could be the way it was before. Every day I pretend it is and maybe eventually it will be.

  “Jim-meeee,” Theresa yells, like she always does when he’s deep into his projects. “You were wrong. I didn’t need my nickel.” She waves it in his face. “Ha, ha, I get to get a candy bar.”

  Jimmy picks his head up slowly, like it’s too heavy for his neck. He has a deep crease between his brows.

  “Uh-oh,” Theresa whispers, “did all your flies die?”

  Jimmy has been quite successful with his fly-breeding project. Down under the dock he has a big barrel full to the brim with hundreds of flies—maybe more.

  “Better go home, Theresa.”

  Theresa’s eyes go wild. “Rocky! Is Rocky . . . ”

  Jimmy puts his hands up as if to block that idea. “Rocky’s okay. It’s Dad.”

  “Dad got hurt?”

  “Dad’s on probation.” He looks at me. “Your dad too. They got written up for being drunk on guard tower duty.”

  “What? That’s crazy,” I say. I’m not even worried about this. That’s how nutty it is.

  Theresa’s mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. Her chin juts forward with the force of this news. “Daddy’s never been drunk in his whole life,” she declares.

  Jimmy shrugs. “Somebody lied, that’s all. Somebody’s out to get them.”

  “But why? Why would anyone be out to get Daddy?” Theresa asks as I head out the door and up the stairs as fast as I can.

  “Mom.” I slam into our apartment. My mom is washing the windows, wearing a pair of my dad’s old pants that are too short for her.

  She takes one look at me. “You heard.”

  “Dad wouldn’t drink when he’s working.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Somebody just made this up to get him in trouble?”

  “Looks that way. But your dad told me I should simmer down about it. He thinks it was a mistake and it will all get straightened out in due time. I’ll tell you one thing. The warden would be a fool to lose your daddy.”

  “Was it Trixle?”

  My mom shakes her head, her lips a cold line. “Darby likes to stir the pot, but I don’t think he’d out and out lie.”

  “Yeah, me either,” I agree.

  “One thing’s for sure. We have to be extra careful until this whole mess works itself out. If you’re on probation and you have any trouble, any at all . . . you’re gone. No second chances.”

  “And with Natalie coming home on Friday . . .”

  “That’s right, and that big shindig this weekend too.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I assure her.

  She takes my chin in her hand. “I know you will be. Six months we lived here with Natalie, we never once had a problem with the warden or Darby either. I suppose I got you to thank for that, Moose.” She smiles at me.

  I twist my chin gently away from her. My mom doesn’t know everything about that time . . . she doesn’t know about Nat’s friendship with 105, for one thing.

  “You know, Moose, Mrs. Mattaman and I were talking. . . .” She pushes the scarf she wears when she cleans away from her eyes. “How are things going with you and the warden’s daughter?”

  My mom doesn’t refer to Piper by name anymore. I’m not sure why.

  “You two have a little spat?” my mother asks.

  “You could call it that.”

  My mom folds her cleaning cloth carefully in half and in half again. “You have a little spat, then this thing happens . . . what a coincidence.”

  “Piper wouldn’t do this.”

  “I hope you’re right.” My mother pronounces right with a hiccup in the middle—ri-ight—as if she’s not convinced.

  “She have any reason to be mad at Jimmy or Theresa?�
� she asks.

  “She’s mad at Theresa. But Mom, Piper’s always mad at someone. That’s just the way she is.”

  “Things are tough at her house right now with a new baby on the way and her momma feeling poorly. You mind your p’s and q’s around that girl, you hear me? She’s pretty as they come, I’ll give you that, but she’s more trouble than stirring up a hornet’s nest.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  “Will you help me empty the pan?” She opens the icebox and takes out the pan filled with melted ice water. Together we walk to the sink, trying to keep the water from splashing.

  When we’ve dumped the water, she takes her rag and gives the pan a good scrub. “Everybody’s always telling me how lucky I am to have you. Did you really get Bea Trixle a rose?”

  “I guess.”

  “Did you now?” She directs a smile at her work. “Don’t imagine Darby appreciated that any too much.”

  “I had an extra.”

  “A twelve-year-old boy with an extra rose?”

  “It’s hard to explain, Mom.”

  “I’ll bet it is.” She works her cloth into the corner. “Annie’s mom says you’re interested in needlepoint too?” She looks at me sideways. I roll my eyes.

  She smiles her sly smile. “Apparently I’m not giving you the right kind of chores. I wish I’d known. I got some mending needs doing. You interested?”

  “Cut it out, Mom,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “I got a son can do no wrong. Guess I can’t complain about that, now can I?”

  20.

  WELKUM HOM NADALEE

  Friday, September 6, 1935

  Nat and my parents are supposed to be on the 4:00 ferry. Theresa, Jimmy, and I are all down waiting for her. Theresa has made a sign. Welkum hom Nadalee, it says in pencil with glued-on buttons. My mom got a store-bought lemon cake and I borrowed some of Jimmy’s fly harness thread and made Natalie a bracelet.

  “Scout be over this weekend?” Jimmy asks as we watch a large fishing boat scoot across the calm water, making a perfect wake, two white lines in the blue.