And Don't Bring Jeremy (3 page)

I pedaled uphill, standing in order to get the bicycle to move. I was only a few blocks from the house, but I wasn’t ready to go there yet. I was still steaming mad at Jeremy. I knew the real reason we had moved. Because of Jeremy. Everything always came back to Jeremy. Mom
had been saying the other house was too small and too dark, but one night I heard her talking it over with Dad. She thought that the school system here in Glen Haven was better and that Jeremy would get more out of their special classes. Well, big deal. Maybe he was getting more out of his special program, but I sure wasn’t benefiting in any way.

The kids were all right, I guess. Pretty much like the kids where I used to live, except they had more toys and video games. But it was hard making friends. I tried to explain to Mom that by sixth grade kids were set with their friends. She said that was nonsense, that with my personality I’d have no trouble making new friends, because I was outgoing and interested in sports.

Well, she was wrong. The kids were nice enough in school. But that was it. Once the weather turned warmer I got into the habit of going over to the school yard and joining in ball games there. The kids always let me play, but it never went further than that. Of course I wondered if I was having trouble making friends because all the kids knew Jeremy was my brother. Eddie was the first guy to call me to get together.

I smacked the handlebar and hurt my fist. It was all Jeremy’s fault. Why did
I
have to have a brother who was different? Even in my old school, as soon as people found out he was my brother, they’d snicker and smile that nasty know-it-all smile. Or worse, sometimes they’d make comments about “that retard.” Jeremy wasn’t retarded, but he sure could look and act weird. A long time ago, when I was five or six, Mom explained to me about his problems. “Neurological impairment” was the fancy term for why he acted the way he did. I guess deep down I knew that he couldn’t help acting the way he did, and I
felt sorry for him. But usually I forgot to, because he got me so angry most of the time—with all of the dumb things he pulled. Mom never should have put him on the same Little League team as me. In fact, he had no business being on
any
baseball team. He didn’t even like baseball—or any sport, for that matter—and couldn’t play if his life depended on it.

I rode into the school parking lot, a few blocks from our house, and watched some older boys playing stickball. Then, without even meaning to, I turned down our block and rode up the driveway. Both Mom’s and Dad’s cars were parked there. Suddenly it occurred to me that they could be worried about me. The game had ended almost an hour ago. And if I knew Mom, she’d be angry at me for going after Jeremy like that.

I put my bike in the garage and rang the doorbell. Nobody answered, so I decided to go around to the back. There they all were, Mom stretched out on a lounge chair knitting, Dad and Jeremy planting vegetables. For a minute they didn’t know I was there. I looked at the three of them, suddenly feeling they were strangers—a family I was watching, like in a movie—not people I belonged to.

“…and you’ll have to remember to water every few days,” Dad was saying. “Especially if it doesn’t rain much. Can you remember that?”

“Sure, Dad.” Jeremy looked all excited.

“And we’ll have to spray the plants soon to keep the insects away. Maybe I should do that.”

“I can do it,” Jeremy said stubbornly. “Just tell me which stuff to use and I’ll take care of it. I
can,
you know.”

“I know you can.” Dad happened to turn and see me standing there. “Hi, Adam.” He didn’t sound angry.

“Hello, Dad.”

Mom popped up from the lounge chair, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. “So there you are,” she said. “We were worried about you, disappearing like that.”

“I just went for a ride,” I mumbled.

Mom and Dad exchanged glances. They did that often when Jeremy was involved. I gathered they’d decided not to give me a hard time.

“I’m dropping out of baseball,” Jeremy announced, as though nothing had happened between us. But that was Jeremy. He didn’t hold a grudge.

“Good idea,” I muttered under my breath.

“We’ll talk about
that
later,” Mom said firmly. “We only agreed that we’d discuss it, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but I told you. I want to drop baseball. I don’t like it.”

Dad sighed. “Helen, I think we should let Jeremy decide. Especially after what happened today.”

Mom put her hands on her hips. “And we just finished saying that he’d give it another week or so. Jeremy has to learn not to give up every time something doesn’t go right.”

Something doesn’t go right? With Jeremy, things never went right.

“I’m not going to play another game,” Jeremy insisted.

“We’ll see,” Mom said, having the last word.

* * *

It all didn’t seem half as bad the next day, which was Sunday. For one thing, I could enjoy the rest of the Little
League season without Jeremy. My brother was the stubbornest person I knew, regardless of his problems. If he said he wouldn’t play in another Little League game, I could take him at his word. I thought over what Eddie had told me—about his father making me starting pitcher—and decided that Mr. Gordon must have changed his mind. Coaches often did that at the last minute. It wasn’t
Eddie’s
fault. I wouldn’t even mention how disappointed I’d been. Eddie would probably tell me I was making a big deal out of nothing anyway.

Since we weren’t going out for a while, I decided to call Danny and tell him I was free to come over and look at the drawings he’d made of the sets.

“Great!” he said. “Come right over. We can play some ball, too.”

I jotted down his address and went into my room for my mitt. Dad was in the den reading the newspaper when I passed through.

“I’m going to Danny Martin’s house,” I told him. “He’s a kid in my class and on my ball team.”

“Fine,” Dad said. “But be home by three. Your mother wants to go over to the mall and pick out carpeting for your bedroom.”

I made a face but knew better than to argue. Mom believed that Jeremy and I should “take an active part,” as she put it, in decorating our rooms. That way we’d have nothing to complain about later on. I guess she was right, but I hated shopping.

“All right,” I agreed. “I’ll be back by three.”

Jeremy stopped me as I was getting my bicycle out of the garage. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“To visit Danny Martin.”

“He’s nice,” Jeremy said. “Can I come, too?”

“No, Jeremy,” I said firmly. “We’re going to play ball and work on the sets.”

“What sets?”

“For the sixth-grade play.”

“I have nothing to do,” he complained, frowning.

“Go work in your garden,” I suggested. I didn’t want him tagging behind.

“There’s nothing to do, not even water.” Suddenly his face brightened. “I know. I’ll go for a ride on my bike.”

I watched him push up the kickstand and wheel his bike out of the garage. I squeezed my hands together so I wouldn’t grab his shirt and stop him. I knew that Mom and Dad didn’t like him to ride around the neighborhood. They worried that he didn’t watch out for cars. Sometimes I worried, too. But they were afraid to stop Jeremy because he would get very angry, saying, “Adam rides his bike all over, why can’t I? I’m older, aren’t I? And I’m not dumb, you know.” And he was right, in a way. Even Mom knew she had to let him ride around sometimes.

“Can’t you do something else?” I asked.

“No. What should I do?”

I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea. “Well, tell Dad if you’re going out.” At least I wouldn’t be responsible if anything happened to Jeremy.

“Okay,” he said. “See you.” Jeremy smiled and went back into the house. One thing about my brother: it didn’t take much to make him happy.

* * *

Danny lived about five blocks away, on the other side of the school from my house. His mother opened the door as soon as I knocked. She seemed to be expecting me. “Hi, Adam. Danny’s in his room going over those
sketches of his for the hundredth time.” She looked like Danny when she smiled. “I’m glad you’re going to work on them with him.”

“We’ll have fun,” I said, feeling comfortable with her right away.

“You’re some pitcher,” Mrs. Martin said. “I watched you yesterday afternoon.”

“Thanks,” I said, my ears growing warm from her compliment, and from remembering what
did
happen during the game.

Just then Danny’s little sister came running past us, a bag of potato chips in her hand. “I’m taking these outside for Mamie and me,” she told her mother. She was a cute kid, about eight years old, with red ribbons in her braids. She turned to me and started giggling. “Hi, I’m Michelle and you’re Adam.” Then, before I could say a word, she ran off.

Danny was sitting at his desk in the corner of his bedroom, staring at some papers in his hands. He looked up as soon as I came into the room.

“Hi, Adam. Take a look at these drawings and tell me what you think.”

I looked at the three sketches. It was plain to see that one was a living room, one a garden, and the third an office. “Hey, they’re pretty good!” I exclaimed, actually surprised at how good they were.

Pleased, Danny grinned. “I thought so, too, to tell the truth. Only”—he pointed at the office—“I can’t decide if this should stay a door or if I should put in another file cabinet.”

I studied the drawing. It looked fine the way it was. “I’d say leave the door.”

“See,” he said, “you’re a big help already. And that takes care of that. Mrs. Casey wants to see them tomorrow so we can start working on the actual sets.”

“She’s nice,” I said, picturing our thin, elderly art teacher who never raised her voice, even when the kids got rowdy.

“Actually, she’s the one who suggested that I ask you to work with me,” Danny said.

“She did?” I really wasn’t that good at art.

“She said you had a good eye and that you could color between the lines.”

We both had a good laugh over that one.

Danny got up. “Enough of this. Let’s go outside and play ball.”

We grabbed our mitts and a hardball and went to play catch in Danny’s backyard. Then, after a while, Danny went into the house to get a bat and we took turns hitting. I liked playing ball with him. He didn’t make any comments when I fumbled an easy pop-up. And I did belt out some good line drives, even though we were only tossing the ball up ourselves and hitting it. Danny told me he thought I’d make a good batter once I stopped stepping away from the ball during games. We started talking so much, I lost my concentration and hit the ball backward. It bounced off the wall next to the kitchen window. Mrs. Martin came right out, but she was nice about it.

“Why don’t you two go across the street to the park where you’ll have more space?”

“Sure, Mom. Sorry,” Danny said.

“But come back in twenty minutes,” she called after us. “I’m heating your pizza now.”

“And if you’re late, Mamie and I will eat it all up,” Michelle added, giggling, suddenly sticking her head out the kitchen door.

“Fat chance, you little twerp,” Danny yelled back. But I could see he wasn’t even annoyed.

“I’m not a twerp, you ape man.” The door slammed hard.

Danny laughed. “That kid. She’s always mad because I’m older and she thinks everything I do and get is better.”

I knew what she meant but I didn’t say so. In my house I did everything better than my older brother. I even had to look out for him. But I still felt he got more attention because he was the firstborn, as well as because of his problems.

The rest of the time passed quickly. Danny’s father came home from his golf game with Mark’s father and he complimented me on my pitching. After we ate our pizza and had ice cream pops, we played some Atari. It was a good thing that I happened to look up at the Martins’ den clock. It was a quarter to three already! I said good-bye to everyone, thanked Mrs. Martin again for lunch, then rode home.

Later, in the car on the way to the mall, I told Jeremy how Danny and I spent the afternoon.

“He’s a nice kid,” Jeremy said. “Not like that Eddie Gordon.”

“Eddie’s all right,” I said defensively.

“I’m glad I’m off his father’s team. Eddie sure doesn’t like
me.”

Mom turned around. “We’ll see about that, Jeremy. Remember?”

“Look, I made up my mind,” Jeremy said. “I’m not playing baseball anymore.”

Dad cleared his throat. “I can’t see the purpose of Jeremy staying on that baseball team, Helen. He doesn’t enjoy it.”

“That’s not the point, Leonard.” Mom spoke in her teacher voice. “He has to learn to stick to things. Not give everything up, like the guitar and karate and whatever else he’s tried.”

“Those were activities you picked out for him,” Dad answered.

“Of course they were things I picked out,” Mom said, getting annoyed. “He said he didn’t care, that he’d try them. And then he didn’t like them.”