The Truth as Told by Mason Buttle Read online

  The brass plate says: In loving memory of Benny Kilmartin.

  I’ve read my way through it a lot of times. Got it all memorized. It says, Donated by Merrimack Hose Company too. That’s the name of the firehouse. So I guess they donated it to themselves. It’s pretty smart. Firefighters need a place to plunk down. Me too. Sometimes I pedal Uncle Drum’s old bike all the way down Swaggertown Road to town. Just so I can sit on that bench. I put my hand over Benny’s name until the brass warms up.

  I try to get the loving memory of Benny. It means stopping to think about him, is all. I always try for a good memory. If we can’t have Benny, well, I guess I am glad the bench is there. The wood is still brown. But it’ll turn to gray like the other loving memory benches in our town. You can see some of those from the bus. If you know where to look.

  When Benny died, that was the boom. Uncle Drum said it. Bing, bang for Gramps and Mom. Boom for Benny. It just came a lot later. And maybe Benny wasn’t ours. Not family. Not the same as my grandpa and my mom. But it felt like he was. To me.

  Sometimes I close my eyes when the bus goes by the Merrimack Hose Company. Some days I don’t want to see the bench. Some days I just know that the loving memory parts won’t come. Instead I’ll get stuck hurting because I don’t have Benny anymore. I will get to worrying about Lieutenant Baird. The way he stops over at the crumbledown. Happens about every month. The lieutenant has questions. He is looking for answers. But he doesn’t like mine.

  chapter 11

  LIEUTENANT BAIRD

  After Merrimack Hose Company comes Merrimack Pee Dee. That’s how Uncle Drum says it. Pee Dee means police department. Well, it is the station, really. There are a lot of word things that seem funny to me. This is one of them. I have heard of firehouse. But not police house. Fire station and police station. And of course we have Merrimack Hose Company. But I have not ever heard of a police company. Maybe they have that somewhere. I don’t know.

  Out in front of the Merrimack Pee Dee is the American flag. And a shield. Blue and gold. Painted on the door. There is a brick wall that makes an arch over the drive. Today, the number 003 cruiser is parked. Number 003 is Lieutenant Baird. Tell you what. That’s good. Means he’s not at my house today.

  He will come again soon. Probably. He is a person I think I could like. But we have got this problem. He still wants the same thing he wanted more than a year ago. He wants help. He wants me to remember everything that was going on the day that Benny Kilmartin died.

  He even gave me that black-and-white-spotted notebook. He folded the orange pencil inside it. He said, “Now, Mason, you write it all down.”

  I choked. I said to him, “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  Tell you what. That was no wisecrack.

  If Lieutenant Baird had just gone over to the school they would have told him how it is with me. The reading. The writing. My troubles with that. Grandma did tell him. Uncle Drum too. He said, “Lieutenant, you should know that the kid kind of hit the trifecta of troubles.” He said that poking his thumb at me. Then he said something about how you can see the sweating but the learning disabilities are invisible. He said, “We got major dyslexia here.” Waggled his fingers in front of his eyes. Dyslexia is about the letters going all faded or fat.

  But the lieutenant made me keep that notebook.

  “Give it a try,” he said. Big smile. He pushed the notebook at me like it was a big birthday gift. Thing is, it was more like a death-day gift. He gave it to me right away on the day Benny died. I remember. I let a flood of tears go right onto the cover of that thing.

  Writing it down doesn’t go well. But the lieutenant wants me to write anything. Even if it doesn’t seem important. He said I can make a list of words and we will talk about them. Because that’s how an investigation goes. With everyone not knowing what’s important until it’s all put together. Like a puzzle.

  Tell you what. I have tried. But I don’t think I have those pieces.

  chapter 12

  THE CLUSTER STOP

  The loop through town is done. I missed a few checkpoints. Happens when I have my mind on the lieutenant. The tree fort. And Benny. There are some days I can’t get away from it. I think this: I will try to tell all of that to the Dragon. Write it there. Someday.

  The bus turns onto Swaggertown Road. My road. Long one. Takes you way out of the center of town.

  I think about this: My mom died along this road. Hit by a car on a clear starry night. That was the bang. Uncle Drum said it. I was pretty little. Thought that bang was the sound. When the car hit her. But somewhere in these years my brain got it. Bang was about losing her. Bang was the way that hit us.

  My stop is a cluster stop. It’s a pretty new thing. They made it after the new developments went up. One up the hill. One down. Our house in the middle along with what’s left of the orchard. The cluster stop means you can get a whole lot of kids on and off the bus at one time. Merrimack needs that now. Merrimack has been growing. That is because there is a big new plant in the city. Manufacturing. Airplane parts. So lots of workers came here. With lots of kids.

  Tell you what I do. I stay ready for the stop. When I step off this bus I will hit the ground moving. Away. From Matt Drinker, Lance Pierson, and, not as much, a kid named Corey McSpirit. He’s the newest one. Moved in this summer. He stands off to the side. He always wants to get down the hill to Matt’s yard for a pickup game. Lacrosse. That’s what they play. Kind of funny, because Matt Drinker is not a kid I’d ever give a stick to. But I have seen inside his garage. He’s got a lot of those sticks.

  Our house is the closest one to the cluster stop. But the bus rolls on by it for the drop. Then I have to walk back to it. Or, more like, run. Lucky I can get to our door pretty quick. And I do. Matt and Lance fire lacrosse balls at me. And you might know it. Those are hard. Rubber or something. They smart when they smack you. It’s not as bad when they throw apples. And they can now. It is apple season.

  We are halfway up Swaggertown Road. A group groan comes from the back of the bus. Then swear words. I turn to look. Matt Drinker’s phone just lost juice in the middle of a video. That’s what they do back there. They lean together. Watch sports. Highlights and mess-ups.

  Matt says, “We have to see that play! We have to!”

  Lance tries his phone. Pokes at the screen.

  Matt Drinker sees me all turned around in my seat. He says, “What are you looking at, Butt-face?” Tells me to turn around. I do. But then I hear him tell Lance, “Your phone is too miniature. We need a bigger screen. Where’s that kid with the white hair? The one who always has his tablet? That little pygmy-sized kid.”

  That makes my eyes open up. Wide.

  I look back again. Matt is up. He’s looking over all the bus seats. Hawk for a field mouse. Then I see. Calvin Chumsky is on the bus after all. Two seats behind me. Must be I missed him while I was looking at my feet. He tries to sit low now. But his eyes look up. Right at me. He pushes the tablet down into his lap.

  I think Calvin Chumsky should have sat up front.

  Matt is up the aisle. He stands over Calvin. He points at the tablet. He says, “I need that.”

  Calvin says, “Well, it’s mine. I don’t lend it out.”

  Matt says, “It’s just for a few minutes! Give it!” He swipes the tablet. Now Calvin Chumsky’s eyes go wide. He stares at his own empty fingers.

  In the back of the bus Lance Pierson tries to grab the tablet from Matt. Matt holds it away. He mocks Calvin. Whiny voice. He says, “I don’t lend it!” They laugh. Huddle up. They reach all hands in to tap on the screen.

  Calvin Chumsky sits. Pushes his tongue into his cheek. Like he’s got a cherry tomato in there. He rolls his eyes at me a couple of times over. I keep watch.

  The bus rolls along Swaggertown Road toward our cluster stop. Corey McSpirit looks up. He says, “Hey. We’re almost there, guys. Better give him back his tablet.”

  “Hold on, hold on,” Matt says. He grips the tablet. Ti
lts it this way and that way. He says, “Does this thing have a camera?”

  I got eyes on Calvin Chumsky. He breathes in.

  Matt finds the lens. He says, “Oh good!” Then louder, he says, “Because we need a picture of Butt-hole’s new STOOPID shirt. Ha ha ha!” He steps into the aisle. Aims at me. He says, “Puff up, Sweat Head. Show me your chest.”

  I do it. Because maybe then they’ll give the tablet back.

  Matt sees my shirt. The plaid tape and what Ms. Blinny wrote. That box she drew. He says, “Hey, what is that? You changed it!” He shows a snarly lip.

  I say, “Yup.” I give a quick look at Calvin Chumsky.

  Matt cusses. Skips the picture. But he talks loud. He says, “Buttle, your brain is a big empty box!” The whole bus roars. I unpuff my chest.

  The driver yells back. He says, “Quiet! Sit down back there!”

  Then the bus rocks to a stop at the corner of Swaggertown and Orchard Drive. The air brakes hiss. Matt passes the tablet back to Calvin. Good thing.

  Turns out Calvin Chumsky is getting off at our stop. Surprise to me. But tell you what. When I am busy trying to keep my sweat to myself I miss stuff. I stand in the aisle. Make myself bigger than I already am. I hold up the line to put Calvin in front of me. Best he gets off this loser cruiser before those backseaters.

  On the ground, Calvin doesn’t talk. He walks. Turns away like he will cross Swaggertown Road. Head up the hill. The road is named Jonagold Path. It’s wrong. It was mostly Cortlands and Galas up there. The developers do not know apples. Must be Calvin lives in that upper development.

  I set my sights on my house. Like always. It’s about as far away as a kid can fling a lacrosse ball. Corner of my eye I see Matt and Lance run up behind Calvin. They grab him by his backpack. Dump him. He’s butt on the ground. Tan-sandy shoes in the air.

  A bunch of cluster-stop kids hang. Some look over their shoulders and whisper. Matt and Lance laugh. They circle around Calvin. Calvin crawls up off the pavement. Looks like a turtle getting off its back. He tells them, “Not very sporting, taking out a kid who weighs about as much as a moth.” Lance steps toward Calvin.

  “Yeah!” The word comes right out of my mouth. I step forward. Chin high. I call, “Try to dump me! Just try!” I smile with all my teeth. Poke my chest with my thumbs to call them over. Then I stand like a post. Taller than all the rest of them. Other kids watch. Somebody says, “They’re going to go after Buttle. Again.”

  Matt and Lance don’t try to drag me down. But they jab at my knees with those lacrosse sticks. I hop out of the way. I tag Calvin. I say, “My house! Right there!” I point to the crumbledown. We run.

  Calvin is not the best at this. His shoes don’t help. They slap down on the gravel. I look behind us and duck a flying lacrosse ball. Then run on. I come up on Calvin’s heels. I pick him up so I don’t plow him down. A ball stings me in the butt. I hurry us up.

  Calvin helps. Tries to keep running when his feet happen to touch on the ground. I’m swinging the heck out of him. But I can’t let him go. I can’t! We are up the saggy steps of the porch, Calvin and me, like we are pasted together. I take one last lacrosse ball smack in the middle of my back. Calvin is quick. He turns the knob. We fall in. Me on top of Calvin.

  Crash. Groan.

  I roll off him quick. Scoot my foot into the door to kick it shut. Then collapse. And breathe.

  Uncle Drum in the indoor armchair says, “Hi, Mason.”

  Grandma leans around the kitchen corner. Looks at Calvin and me. She says, “What’s this? A heap of boys?”

  I say, “Yeah. We are a heap.”

  She says, “Trouble at the cluster stop?”

  I say, “Just some.” I don’t bother Grandma with that stuff.

  Shayleen sticks her head out of my old room. Looks surprised to see more than just me. She gets right on it. Crabs about the noise of two boys falling into the house. Then pops away again. Cuckoo bird.

  Grandma looks at tiny Calvin Chumsky. Small smile. She says, “Who wants a banana shake?”

  I look at Calvin. He nods. I tell Grandma, “Two, please.” Then I ask Calvin if he’s okay. I ask because of that chase. And because—tell you what—if you land on a kid like Calvin, it feels like you have crushed a little pile of twigs and feathers.

  Calvin nods. He is okay. Then he grins. He says, “Actually . . . that was awesome.”

  Uncle Drum in the armchair lets out a low laugh.

  chapter 13

  CALVIN IN THE CRUMBLEDOWN

  I watch Calvin. I don’t think he minds about the way it is at my house. How we have mess. Jumble of shoes and boots and shopping bags by the door. Parts of two broken chairs in one corner. Cobwebs in all the others. That’s the Buttles. Mess everywhere but the kitchen. The kitchen is the one clean and shiny part of our crumbledown house.

  Grandma turns her National Public Radio lower than a whisper. She tells Calvin, “The kitchen is my domain.”

  Calvin looks right down at his tan-sandy shoes. Sees that he is standing with his toes on Grandma’s linoleum. In her kitchen. He hops back. Both feet on the braid rug. Grandma smiles. She even laughs.

  Then it happens: The air above the kitchen turns thin pink—like wet raspberries. I stare at it. I know that I am the only one who sees it. But it’s been a long time even for me. The pink is the color of the good parts. Best parts. Of life, I mean. Happens only sometimes. Never lasts for long. Like now, in the kitchen. Might be two seconds. I blink. Watch it fade.

  And here I am thinking of two things: One is Benny Kilmartin because that’s the last time I saw the pink in the air. The second thing I think about is that girl from the spelling-bee movie. How a girl like that might know about how a color could show up along with a feeling. Tell you what. I have figured out that most people do not get that. Told it to Uncle Drum once. He just closed one eye at me. Shook his head. Same for a lady at school who was giving me some tests one day. I told her I was seeing the ugly green. She told me to focus.

  Calvin and I sit on the stools at the eating counter. Looks like it is for keeping people out of the kitchen. Kitchen fence. Used to be where Grandma set all the apple pies and crisps to cool. Hot from her two ovens. Sold those pies out at the stand. But that stopped and then this spot just got piled high with Merrimack Gazettes. Years’ worth. Couldn’t even sit here to eat. Until something got into Uncle Drum. Like a switch turned him on. He moved the stacks out. Did that all in one swoop. Happened pretty close after Benny died.

  There is a lot that does not get done around here. But the newspapers, yes. Uncle Drum and Grandma look through quick. Then it’s out the door and into the footwell of the truck. Off to the transfer station. I have to remind him to save me some. I stuff those in my sweaty shoes at night to dry them out. I see him sort through. Like he is picking pages. Funny thing, that is. My sweaty shoes do not care what those pages have on them.

  So we sit at the kitchen fence. I make sure Calvin has the good stool. I take the one with the wobbly leg. It was me who loosened it up anyhow. Did that just by being big. And wiggly.

  Grandma peels two bananas. Scoops the ice cream. Dash of vanilla. She keeps smiling at Calvin. I like to see it. Her eyes shining like minnow fish. Makes me think, there that is again. Two people liking each other right from the jump.

  Then out comes Shayleen again. Right to the edge of the kitchen this time. She has colored red onto her lips.

  I tell her, “This is Calvin.” Then I tell Calvin, “That is called Shayleen.”

  She looks at him. From his white kitten hair down to his tan-sandy shoes. She is quiet for three whole seconds. Can’t believe that.

  Calvin looks back at Shayleen with her dark hair chopped so it points at her chin. She’s wearing the raggedy shorts. Looks like somebody dragged those behind a car. Also, red tights. Button boots.

  She blinks before she takes her eyes off Calvin. She says, “Mason. Seriously. Can we talk about how loud your body is? How big you sound.”

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sp; I say, “I am big. Wrecking-ball big.” Calvin laughs and I like it. Then I tell Shayleen, “There. We talked.”

  She says, “Do you know that I have to turn up the TV as soon as you get home?” Then she does the thing where she looks at Uncle Drum over in the armchair. Trying to stir him into this. She says, “You have heavy feet, Mason. You need to learn how to make them quiet.”

  I say, “I am made the way I am made, Shayleen. There is no choosing about that. Haven’t we already talked about this a hundred times? And aren’t you living in my room anyway? Shayleen? Oop! Oop! And now you’re in the kitchen.” I make wild eyes. Stick my arm out straight and point my finger at her button boots. Toes on the linoleum.

  Tell you what. I do not do a lot of tattling. But Shayleen brings it out of me. And it is fun being fresh with her in front of Calvin Chumsky.

  Grandma comes. She nudges Shayleen back to the rug. Calvin puts his hand up to his mouth. Wipes off a grin.

  Shayleen bosses. She says, “And Mason, if you want to bring this little boy in—”

  Grandma pushes the button on the blender. Lays on it extra hard. Gives Shayleen thin minnow eyes. The blender is a beautiful noisy thing. There’s Shayleen. Red mouth. Making words nobody can hear.

  Calvin squints at her. There’s not much else you can do about Shayleen. Just squint. And wonder things.

  chapter 14

  IN THE ROOM UPSTAIRS

  We polish off the banana shakes. Grandma makes sure Calvin Chumsky tells his parents where he is. Then we go up the old tilty stairs. He is careful at climbing. Holds the rail with one hand. Brushes the old stone of the chimney with his other.

  He says, “This house is awesome.”

  Tell you what. Calvin sees the best of this old crumbledown. He likes the chestnut beams and chisel marks. The wooden pegs. All of the parts that keep the place standing.