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“You’re still a fartknocker, Brant Elliott.”
Wendy sticks her tongue out at me while we wait at the bus stop as her brother, Wyatt, snickers under his breath. The Nippersink twins are dreadful.
I ignore them both as we all stand together at the end of the cul-de-sac with Theo’s parents and Baby June. Theo is playing with his Game Boy, sitting beneath a vibrant maple tree, while red and orange leaves float and flutter down around him.
June wiggles her arms around inside the stroller, messing up the fuzzy blanket I had carefully wrapped her in. “Aggie.”
My smile blooms to life, prompting me to pat the head of the stuffed elephant resting beside her. “Aggie’s right here, June. He’ll play with you while I’m at school today.”
Wendy sneers in my direction. “Babies can’t talk, Brant. Don’t be stupid.”
Theo’s mom is bickering with Theo’s dad about who was supposed to bring the garbage to the curb. I’m supposed to call them Samantha and Andrew, but my mom always told me that we don’t call grown-ups by their first names—it’s rude.
I kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk, raising my eyes to Wendy. “I’m not stupid.”
“You’re pretty stupid. You’re talking to a baby who can only drool and cry.”
“You’re wrong. She does lots of things.”
June learned how to roll over last week, from her tummy to her back. It was incredible, and I saw it with my own eyes, but she only did it that one time. She does other things, too. She smiles at me a lot, she flaps her arms like a baby bird, and she says two words: Aggie and Ga. I think she’s the smartest baby in the whole world.
“Whatever.” Wendy shrugs, tugging at her ponytail. Her hair is brown like mine, but underneath the autumn sun, I see glimmers of red. Red like the devil, probably.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, so I glance up to see Mrs. Bailey smiling down at me with warm blue eyes. She’s pretty, just like June. I wonder if June’s eyes will turn light blue like her mom’s, or morph into copper like her dad’s. Right now they look dark navy, mirroring the gloomy October sky.
“Are you excited for your classes today, Brant?”
I’ve been back in school for a little while now, and summer has faded into fall. We’re learning about pumpkin farms. “I guess.”
“Something tells me you’ll have a great year, kiddo,” Mr. Bailey adds, bumping me on the shoulder with his fist. I quirk a smile in return. “I need to get going, hon. Another day, another dollar.” He bends down to plant a kiss against Mrs. Bailey’s yellow hair, his eyes dancing with love. They look so much different from my dad’s eyes. Even when Theo’s parents argue with each other, it never feels bad like it did when my parents fought. It doesn’t make my heart gallop like a wild stampede, or make my belly swish with panic.
Mr. Bailey is really nice. He walks us to the bus stop every morning before going to work at the computer office with his mug of coffee. It’s never in a paper cup with a lid like some of the other parents’ when they wait with us, and I often wonder how he never seems to spill a drop. It’s brimful, piping hot. Steam rolls off the top like little plumes of smoke. Mr. Bailey loves coffee almost as much as he loves Mrs. Bailey.
Lifting his hand with a wave, he retreats back down the cul-de-sac, calling out, “Have a remarkable day.”
He always says that. He never tells us to have a good day, or even a great day… It’s always remarkable.
I wonder if he had told my own dad to have a remarkable day on the day of The Bad Night, would everything have been different? It’s hard to do bad things when someone wants you to be remarkable.
The bus roars to life around the corner, causing Wendy to hop up and down, her ponytail bouncing with her. She loves school, a lot more than I do. It’s probably because she has so many friends. I used to have more friends, but when school started up this year, all the kids looked at me funny. Same with the teachers. I guess everyone had heard about what happened to my parents. Maybe they think that if they get too close to me, it will happen to them, too.
Theo jumps up from his perch beneath the glowing maple, handing off his Game Boy to his mother. She stuffs it into the diaper bag draped over her shoulder, then leans down to give him a hug.
I flash back to standing on my old front porch with Mom. That was the last time we ever hugged beneath a golden sky. Memories burn me, scents and feelings. Mom smelled like taffy apples at the summer carnival, and her love for me was just as sweet. I miss it.
I miss her.
The bus rolls up, tearing me away from the memory. June squeaks out baby noises that sound like gibberish, flailing her arms around beneath the awning of the stroller. It almost looks like she’s waving goodbye to me.
I can’t help but smile.
“Bye, June,” I say, dashing toward the school bus, my backpack slapping against me as I run. I turn around at the last second, calling out, “Have a remarkable day.”
I’m sitting at the dinner table that evening, feeling dejected. I didn’t have a remarkable day, even though I tried. In fact, it was a really bad day.
Wyatt gathered all his friends up, and together they teased me on the playground.
They called me an orphan.
