The Infinity Year of Avalon James Page 3

  “Course it wasn’t,” Atticus said. Then, without missing a beat, “Did you guys realize we haven’t even started talking about Halloween yet?”

  “What should we go as?” Adam said excitedly.

  “Thor or Iron Man,” Kevin answered.

  “Everybody goes as them!” Adam said. “I’m going as Ant-Man. Ant-Man has a cybernetic helmet.”

  “So,” Kevin said louder. “Iron Man has a body helmet.”

  “So…”

  And it continued. The ongoing argument about who was the most awesomely supreme Avenger. Atticus was a genius.

  I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was 12:24. Almost time to go back to class. I took a couple of bites of pizza. Gobbled down some peas. Had a few spoonfuls of Jell-O (Miss Judy had brought me some cherry Jell-O, too!).

  Atticus picked up his tray. “See you at recess.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. After lunch, we go back to our classrooms for thirty minutes of reading, followed by science for Atticus and English for me. Then comes my favorite forty minutes of the day. Recess.

  I watched Atticus and the boys line up to go back to Ms. Smith’s class. I still had a few minutes before our line formed.

  I pulled out my flashcards and looked at these words:

  Harbinger

  Petticoat

  Satisfaction

  A black cat crossed the road in front of me, which is a harbinger of bad things to come. I drew up my petticoat as I stepped over a puddle. When I slipped and fell into the puddle anyway, the cat turned and looked at me with satisfaction.

  Making sentences with words helps my brain remember how to spell them. Words are like math to me. They make sense.

  I looked down at the other end of the table at Chloe, Sissy, and Elena. Other than the Milk Monster comment, the three of them had been suspiciously good so far this year. If I hadn’t overheard them in the bathroom, I would probably feel pretty relaxed right about then. I’d be thinking that Mrs. Jackson’s no-bullying policy was actually working.

  Of course, I’d be wrong.

  We walked back to Mrs. Jackson’s class in single file. While Marcus Johnson tried to step on the back of my sneakers, I thought about Halloween. Me and Atticus went as Peter Pan and Tinker Bell last year. Adam went as Captain Hook and Kevin dressed up like the Crocodile. That kind of Halloween was over. I wasn’t going to be able to talk them into being Disney characters anymore. Fifth-grade boys wanted to be superheroes and villains with more than hook hands and massive teeth. I wondered what fifth-grade girls wanted to be.

  When we got back to class, I went to get a book from the library in the back of our classroom and picked up Charlotte’s Web. I’ve always had a soft spot for pigs and spiders. Just like my mom. This was her favorite book when she was a kid. She used to read it to me some nights when my dad was working late. We’d snuggle up with M between us and read about Charlotte and Wilbur.

  Other than the milk incident, the day was turning out to be okay. Maybe even magical. After all, I’d met Hari Singh. He actually spoke to me. He knows I’m a speller. And he thought that was awesome.

  I even found myself smiling at Elena as I went to my desk. Until I sat down into what felt like a pool of Jell-O.

  Great. Great. Triple great.

  I stood up enough to see what it actually was. And yes, it was cherry Jell-O. My jeans were soaked with it.

  I looked over at Elena. She was smiling at me now. Elena had big brown eyes and long black curly hair. She wore the newest clothes, carried the nicest book bag, and always had perfectly painted nails. If that look of meanness hadn’t already spoiled her face, Elena Maxwell might actually be pretty.

  Her eyes narrowed like she was daring me to tell Mrs. Jackson.

  The Jell-O I was sitting in wasn’t the big mean thing they were planning. I had had enough clods of dirt in my pockets and broken pencils in my pencil box to know that. This was only an appetizer on Elena’s menu of meanness. The main course was still to come.

  I looked over at Mrs. Jackson. Telling her would have been an option. But Elena would have just denied it and then everyone would know I had Jell-O all over my jeans.

  I sat back down with a squish. Elena Maxwell would not get the best of me today.

  As my butt began to chill, I remembered Atticus warning me not to post the picture of Elena and her American flag underwear on the bulletin board. But it was fabulous and I hadn’t been able to stop myself.

  Plus, Elena had been mean to me in fourth grade. Really mean. She deserved it.

  “Don’t let her know she gets to you,” Atticus was always saying. But she really gets to me. Sometimes I just want to punch her in the face.

  When we were in the same class, I could look at Atticus and, usually, that would calm me down. But this year Atticus was in the room next door, which might as well have been in China. I was alone with the devil herself.

  It was going to be a very long year.

  FOUR

  Atticus is a vegetarian and it drives Mrs. Brightwell crazy. She will feed me the most delicious hamburger right in front of him in hopes that he will give in and ask for one.

  He never does.

  Atticus can’t believe that I let his mother use me like this.

  I can’t believe that he misses out on such great burgers.

  Atticus quit eating meat of any kind in third grade. I remember when it happened. It was during a weekend at his grandparents’ farm. His Granny and Pop-pop have a farm outside of town where they raise cattle and grow strawberries.

  Atticus loves animals and he had named every cow in their herd. He helped raise one of the calves after the calf’s mom died. He named the calf Frank, and Atticus would bottle-feed Frank and play with him every weekend. I met Frank on several occasions and have to say that Frank (despite his name) was pretty adorable.

  His Pop-pop always told Atticus not to get attached to the animals, and that weekend at lunch, Atticus asked why.

  Pop-pop pointed with a fork at the hamburger Atticus was eating and said, “Because that’s what Frank’s going to grow up to be one day.”

  Atticus put down his hamburger, left the table, and never ate a piece of meat again.

  * * *

  We hadn’t been to the farm since fifth grade started. I got up early on the third Saturday morning in September because Atticus and I were going for the whole day.

  I woke up before my mom and tiptoed into her room. She still slept on her side of the bed. The other side of the bed looked lonely and sad. Mom had worked late at the hospital the night before and picked me up at Mrs. White’s house. I had fallen asleep on Mrs. White’s couch and barely remembered getting home.

  I got dressed, ate a bowl of cereal all by myself, then waited in front of my window for Mrs. Brightwell’s car to drive up. M jumped onto my lap and we looked out into the neighborhood. It was so quiet out there. Like everyone was still asleep, just like my mom.

  I reached for the conch shell that was sitting on my windowsill and held it up to my ear. It was a gift from Atticus from one of his family’s summer trips to the beach. They say you’re supposed to hear the ocean in that little shell. I listened hard but if there’s an ocean in there it must be a thousand miles away. I listened harder. I imagined the waves. Atticus always said how loud they were. I strained to hear them in my head.

  Mrs. Brightwell’s car pulled into our driveway. I put M on our bed and kissed her right between her ears. “Have a good day, M,” I said even though I knew she would miss me.

  I grabbed my backpack and looked inside. Mom had put an extra sweatshirt in there along with my flashcards. I carried it with me as I stepped into her room again. She was still sound asleep.

  “Mom,” I whispered.

  “What?” she answered instantly, the way moms do.

  “They’re here.”

  “Oh, okay.” She sat up and looked at me. “You got everything?”

  I held up my backpack.

  “Did you eat?” she ask
ed, rubbing her eyes.

  “Fruity Pebbles.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “Fruity and nutritious,” I said, and smiled at her.

  Mom shook her head. She was always trying to get me to eat healthy cereals. But she still bought me the ones I liked.

  “Have fun,” she said, and held out her arm to me. I walked over and she gave me a little squeeze.

  “I will,” I said. As I turned toward the door, I could feel her falling asleep again.

  I slipped out the side door that led to the garage and locked it behind me. Then I ran down the driveway to Mrs. Brightwell’s car. I got in the backseat next to Atticus.

  Atticus’s sister, Caroline, was sitting in the front seat next to Mrs. Brightwell. Caroline has long red hair, green eyes, and perfectly perfect teeth. Her boyfriend, Will, is on the football team and Caroline is a cheerleader.

  Caroline has lots of friends and always seems to be smiling. We have nothing in common but I have to like Caroline because she likes Atticus just about as much as I do.

  As I shut the door to the car, I heard Mrs. Brightwell say, “That’s enough of this for now,” in a tone that said no more talking about whatever it was they had been talking about in front of me.

  “Good morning, Avalon,” she then said brightly.

  “Hi, Mrs. Brightwell,” I said as I buckled my seat belt. “Hi, Caroline.” I looked at Atticus. I could tell something was bothering him.

  Mrs. Brightwell was going to drop us at the farm and then she and Mr. Brightwell were going to visit his younger sister, who’d just had a baby girl. Atticus’s Aunt Lori and Uncle Kevin already had one kid, Atticus’s cousin Michael. Whenever they’d visit in the summer or at Christmas, we’d let Michael hang out with us even though he was a year younger. This last summer, though, Michael had gotten so tall that Atticus and I looked like the littler kids. It didn’t bother Atticus until Michael started teasing him, calling him “little cuz” and holding a football way over Atticus’s head. Atticus jumped for it once but then just gave up and went inside.

  I looked at Michael real hard. That’s all it took. He gave me the football. But I didn’t feel so good about Michael after that.

  “What do you squirts want to do today?” Caroline asked. She turned to us, draping her arm over the front seat.

  Atticus shrugged.

  Yes, something was definitely wrong.

  “Come on, Atti.” She reached back and jiggled his knee. “Come on, it’s gonna be fun. We’ll do whatever you want.”

  This was strange. Usually when we go to the farm under Caroline’s supervision, me and Atticus take off and do whatever we want while Caroline texts her friends from the farmhouse.

  “Come on!” she pleaded loudly and made a funny face.

  “Caroline!” Mrs. Brightwell said. “Leave your brother alone.”

  “I can’t,” she said, and put on a pouty voice. “He’s my dreamy dreamboat. My dreamiest dreamboat. Of all the dreamy dreamboats.” She batted her eyes at him.

  Atticus could never resist Caroline. He started to smile.

  Fifteen minutes later we were at the farmhouse. As we got out of the car, Pop-pop came out to meet us in the driveway. He held out his hand to me and said, “Give me five, sprout.” He has greeted me in this way since I was six.

  I gave him five and he pretended to almost fall over from the force of my hand. This, too, he has done since I was six.

  “Hey, cowboy,” he said to Atticus, and they both pulled imaginary guns out of imaginary holsters and pointed them at each other. Yeah. Since six.

  “And if you get more beautiful, my eyeballs are going to pop out,” he said to Caroline.

  “Ah, Pop-pop,” she said, hugging her grandfather.

  “We’ll be back to get them by seven,” Mrs. Brightwell said. “Seven thirty at the latest.” She pecked her father on the cheek and waved to her mother, who had stepped out onto the porch.

  “Why don’t you let the children stay overnight?” Pop-pop said. “I’ll tell them ghost stories that’ll turn their hair gray.”

  Atticus and I swung around hopefully to Mrs. Brightwell, but she was already shaking her head. “Not tonight,” she said. “Maybe some other time.” We could’ve moaned and pleaded but we knew it wouldn’t change things.

  As she pulled out of the driveway, Pop-pop looked at Atticus. “Your mother may be my daughter, but I got to say, sometimes I think that girl has lost her fun.”

  He turned to me. “F-U-N,” he spelled. “Fun.” He grinned and clapped his hands together.

  I laughed. Pop-pop can be funny.

  Sometimes.

  But Pop-pop can be serious, too. He grew up on the farm, and he’d sometimes tell us super-serious stories about weird things that happened when he was a boy. Like when his brother shot an arrow straight up in the air and watched it come all the way back down and land right between his eyes. (Don’t worry, he lived.) Or the time Pop-pop caught the top of his uncle’s index finger when it accidentally got cut off in the old sawmill.

  Or when he got his magical power during his Infinity Year.

  Yep. That’s how we know about the Infinity Year. Atticus’s grandfather is the reliable source who told us about it in the first place.

  It was right before Atticus’s birthday last year. We were sitting on the tailgate of the truck in the pasture watching after a cow, who was about to have a baby cow. It takes a long time sometimes for a cow to be born so we were talking to Pop-pop and keeping him company.

  I remember Pop-pop was chewing on a piece of hay. We were pointing out shapes in the big fluffy clouds that filled the sky that day. Yawning dogs, puffy hats, and battleships all floated by as we talked.

  At first, I thought Pop-pop was kidding when he started telling us about how our Infinity Year was coming up. Pop-pop has been known to tell a tall tale or two. But there was something different about this. About the way he told us. He was serious.

  It started way back, a very long time ago, when Pop-pop was about to turn ten. It was a spring day and Pop-pop and his friend Jimmy Riggins were at his grandfather’s house late one afternoon. Pop-pop and Jimmy were best friends. Probably kind of like me and Atticus.

  “There was a tornado coming through,” Pop-pop said, “and we all went down into the root cellar.”

  “What’s a root cellar?” I asked.

  “A place underground. Where we kept the root vegetables during the winter. Didn’t you ever see The Wizard of Oz?” he asked.

  Atticus and I both nodded.

  “It was in the root cellar that my Grandpa Daniel told us about the time back when he was ten and he and his best friend got their magical powers.”

  “What magical powers?” Atticus asked, his eyes little round saucers.

  “Grandpa Daniel could become invisible whenever he wanted,” Pop-pop said. “And his friend could outrun any horse on the farm.”

  “No,” we said together.

  “Yes.” Pop-pop nodded. “But those powers went away on the day they turned eleven.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said. “That’s impossible.”

  “Is it?” Pop-pop answered, raising his eyebrow just like Atticus does.

  “Did it happen to you, Pop-pop?” Atticus suddenly asked. “Did you and Jimmy get your magical powers?”

  Pop-pop grinned and looked us both straight in the eyes. “We did. We sure did.”

  “What were they?” Atticus yelled.

  “Tell us!” I pleaded, too.

  “Shhhh.” Pop-pop put a finger to his lips and looked toward the mama cow, who was still thinking about having her baby. “I’ll tell you about that when you’re eleven. Something to look forward to,” he said, and grinned. “But just remember, you can’t talk about it with anybody else. Not with any of your other friends. That’s the rule. It has to be a secret. Between true best friends. That’s the only way the magic happens. That’s why I had to tell it to the two of you.”

  Atticus and I looked at each
other. Both of our mouths were wide open.

  Atticus turned back to his grandpa. “Why does it happen when you’re ten?” he asked. I thought that was kind of a silly question—who cares why it happens as long as it happens—but Pop-pop looked thoughtful, like it deserved a serious answer.

  “No one can really say, cowboy,” he said, and looked up to the sky. “But the way I figure it is this. When you’re ten years old, your life’s really starting to open up. It’s just kind of a special time, a magical time when anything can happen, where the possibilities are endless.”

  He brushed his hand over both of our heads. “The possibilities are endless,” he repeated. “Infinite. That’s why we called it the Infinity Year. Least, Jimmy did. He was like you, sprout. Loved his big words. I-N-F-I-N-I-T-Y. Infinity.”

  “Tell us one thing about your power, Pop-pop,” Atticus begged. “Please.”

  “Okay,” he said. “One thing only.” He looked around as if to make sure nobody else could hear. “Your magical power can come in one of two ways. Like my Grandpa Daniel, it can be a power you can call on time and time again. Or it can be a power that comes only once—when you need it most.”

  “Is that what happened to you?” I asked.

  “You got it when you needed it most?” Atticus asked.

  He winked at us then he hopped off the tailgate. “We’ll talk about it when you’re eleven,” he said, and walked over toward the cow.

  * * *

  That was last spring, and so far, Pop-pop has kept his word and has never talked about it, no matter how much we’ve begged. He’s only said that we’ll talk about it afterward. When our Infinity Year is done.

  This drives Atticus and me crazy.

  After Mrs. Brightwell drove off, Atticus, Caroline, and I followed Pop-pop into the farmhouse. Inside, Granny was standing in front of the griddle making pancakes and bacon for breakfast.

  Caroline and Atticus went to hug their grandmother as I sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Morning, Avalon,” she called out over the sizzle of the griddle. “You want Atticus’s bacon?”

  I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please!” She brought me a plate piled high with pancakes and bacon. I didn’t tell her about the Fruity Pebbles.