迪文小说

第5部分（第2页）

Juli　wasnt　at　the　bus　stop　the　next　morning。　Or　Friday　morning。　She　was　at　school；　but　youd

never　know　it　if　you　didnt　actually　look。　She　didnt　whip

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her　hand　through　the　air　trying　to　get　the　teacher　to　call　on　her　or　charge　through　the　halls

getting　to　class。　She　didnt　make　unsolicited　ments　for

the　teachers　edification　or　challenge　the　kids　who　took　cuts　in　the　milk　line。　She　just　sat。

Quiet。

I　told　myself　I　should　be　glad　about　it　—　it　was　like　she　wasnt　even　there；　and　isnt　that　what

Id　always　wanted？　But　still；　I　felt　bad。　About　her　tree；

about　how　she　hurried　off　to　eat　by　herself　in　the　library　at　lunch；　about　how　her　eyes　were

red　around　the　edges。　I　wanted　to　tell　her；　Man；　Im　sorry

about　your　sycamore　tree；　but　the　words　never　seemed　to　e　out。

By　the　middle　of　the　next　week；　theyd　finished　taking　down　the　tree。　They　cleared　the　lot　and

even　tried　to　pull　up　the　stump；　but　that　sucker　would

not　budge；　so　they　wound　up　grinding　it　down　into　the　dirt。

Juli　still　didnt　show　at　the　bus　stop；　and　by　the　end　of　the　week　I　learned　from　Garrett　that

she　was　riding　a　bike。　He　said　hed　seen　her　on　the

side　of　the　road　twice　that　week；　putting　the　chain　back　on　the　derailleur　of　a　rusty　old　ten…

speed。

I　figured　shed　be　back。　It　was　a　long　ride　out　to　Mayfield　Junior　High；　and　once　she　got　over

the　tree；　shed　start　riding　the　bus　again。　I　even

caught　myself　looking　for　her。　Not　on　the　lookout；　just　looking。

Then　one　day　it　rained　and　I　thought　for　sure　shed　be　up　at　the　bus　stop；　but　no。　Garrett　said

he　saw　her　trucking　along　on　her　bike　in　a　bright

yellow　poncho；　and　in　math　I　noticed　that　her　pants　were　still　soaked　from　the　knees　down。

When　math　let　out；　I　started　to　chase　after　her　to　tell　her　that　she　ought　to　try　riding　the　bus

again；　but　I　stopped　myself　in　the　nick　of　time。　What

was　I　thinking？　That　Juli　wouldnt　take　a　little　friendly　concern　and　pletely　misinterpret　it？

Whoa　now；　buddy；　beware！　Better　to　just　leave　well

enough　alone。

After　all；　the　last　thing　I　needed　was　for　Juli　Baker　to　think　I　missed　her。

The　Sycamore　Tree

I　love　to　watch　my　father　paint。　Or　really；　I　love　to　hear　him　talk　while　he　paints。　The　words

always　e　out　soft　and　somehow　heavy　when　hes

brushing　on　the　layers　of　a　landscape。　Not　sad。　Weary；　maybe；　but　peaceful。

My　father　doesnt　have　a　studio　or　anything；　and　since　the　garage　is　stuffed　with　things　that

everyone　thinks　they　need　but　no　one　ever　uses；　he

paints　outside。

Outside　is　where　the　best　landscapes　are；　only　theyre　nowhere　near　our　house。　So　what　he

does　is　keep　a　camera　in　his　truck。　His　job　as　a