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team； anyway？ What bugged me about it was that
anyone who bothered to look would know that it wasn't asthma or weak ankles or her being
“delicate” that was stopping her。 It was her hair。 She
had mountains of it； twisted this way or that； clipped or beaded； braided or swirled。 Her
ponytails rivaled the ones on carousel horses。 And on the
days she let it all hang down； she'd sort of shimmy and cuddle inside it like it was a blanket；
so that practically all you saw of her face was her nose。
Good luck playing four…square with a blanket over your head。
My solution to Shelly Stalls was to ignore her； which worked just dandy until about halfway
through the fifth grade when I saw her holding hands
with Bryce。
My Bryce。 The one who was still embarrassed over holding my hand two days before the
second grade。 The one who was still too shy to say
much more than hello to me。
The one who was still walking around with my first kiss。
How could Shelly have wormed her hand into his？ That pushy little princess had no business
hanging on to him like that！
Bryce looked over his shoulder from time to time as they walked along； and he was looking
at me。 My first thought was that he was telling me he
was sorry。 Then it dawned on me— he needed my help。 Absolutely； that's what it had to be！
Shelly Stalls was too delicate to shake off； too swirly to
be pushed away。 She'd unravel and start sniffling and oh； how embarrassing that would be
for him！ No； this wasn't a job a boy could do gracefully。
This was a job for a girl。
I didn't even bother checking around for other candidates—I had her off of him in two
seconds flat。 Bryce ran away the minute he was free； but not
Shelly。 Oh； no…no…no！ She came at me； scratching and pulling and twisting anything she
could get her hands on； telling me that Bryce was hers and
there was no way she was letting him go。
How delicate。
I was hoping for herds of teachers to appear so they could see the real Shelly Stalls in action；
but it was too late by the time anyone arrived on the
……… Page 10………
scene。 I had Fluffy in a headlock and her arm twisted back in a hammerlock； and no amount
of her squawking or scratching was going to get me to
un lock her until a teacher arrived。
In the end； Shelly went home early with a bad case of mussed…up hair； while I told my side of
things to the principal。 Mrs。 Shultz is a sturdy lady
who probably secretly appreciates the value of a swift kick well placed； and although she told
me that it would be better if I let other people work out
their own dilemmas； she definitely understood about Shelly Stalls and her hair and told me
she was glad I'd had the self…control to do nothing more
than restrain her。
Shelly was back the next day with a head full of braids。 And of course she got everybody
whispering about me； but I just ignored them。 The facts
spoke for themselves。 Bryce didn't go anywhere near her for the rest of the year。
That's not to say that Bryce held my hand after that； but he did start being a little friendlier to
me。 Especially in the sixth grade； after Mr。 Mertins
sat us right next to each other in the third row back。
Sitting next to Bryce was nice。 He was nice。 He'd say Hi； Juli to me every morning； and once
in a while I'd catch him looking my way。 He'd always
blush and go back to his own work； and I couldn't help but smile。 He was so shy。 And so cute！
We talked to each other more； too。 Especially after Mr。 Mertins moved me behind him。 Mr。
Mertins had a detention policy about spelling； where if
you missed more than seven out of twenty…five words； you had to spend lunch inside with
him； writing your words over and over and over again。
The pressure of detention made Bryce panic。 And even though it bothered my conscience；
I'd lean in and whisper answers to him； hoping that
maybe I could spend lunch with him instead。 His hair smelled like watermelon； and his ear…
lobes had fuzz。 Soft； blond fuzz。 And I wondered about
that。 How does a boy with such black hair wind up with blond ear fuzz？ What's it doing there；
anyway？ I checked my own ear…lobes in the mirror but
couldn't find much of anything on them； and I didn't spot any on other people's either。
I thought about asking Mr。 Mertins about earlobe fuzz when we were discussing evolution in
science； but I didn't。 Instead； I spent the year
whispering spelling words； sniffing watermelon； and wondering if I was ever going to get my
kiss。
Buddy； Beware！
Seventh grade brought changes； all right； but the biggest one didn't happen at school — it
happened at home。 Granddad Duncan came to live with
us。
At first it was kind of weird because none of us really knew him。 Except for Mom； of course。
And even though she's spent the past year and a half
trying to convince us he's a great guy； from what I can tell； the thing he likes to do best is
stare out the front…room window。 There's not much to see
out there except the Bakers' front yard； but you can find him there day or night； sitting in the
big easy chair they moved in with him； staring out the
window。
Okay； so he also reads Tom Clancy novels and the newspapers and does crossword puzzles
and tracks his stocks； but those things are all
distractions。 Given no one to justify it to； the man would stare out the window until he fell
asleep。 Not that there's anything wrong with that。 It just
seems so … boring。
Mom says he stares like that because he misses Grandma； but that's not something
Granddad had ever discussed with me。 As a matter of fact；
he never discussed much of anything with me until a few months ago when he read about
Juli in the newspaper。
……… Page 11………
Now； Juli Baker did not wind up on the front page of the Mayfield Times for being an eighth…
grade Einstein； like you might suspect。 No； my
friend； she got front…page coverage because she refused to climb out of a sycamore tree。
Not that I could tell a sycamore from a maple or a birch for that matter； but Juli； of course；
knew what kind of tree it was and passed that
knowledge along to every creature in her wake。
So this tree； this sycamore tree； was up the hill on a vacant lot on Collier Street； and it was
massive。 Massive and ugly。 It was twisted and gnarled
and bent； and I kept expecting the thing to blow over in the wind。
One day last year I'd finally had enough of her yakking about that stupid tree。 I came right out
and told her that it was not a magnificent sycamore；
it was； in reality； the ugliest tree known to man。 And you know what she said？ She said I was
visually challenged。 Visually challenged！ This from the
girl who lives in a house that's the scourge of the neighborhood。 They've got bushes growing
over windows； weeds sticking out all over the place；
and a barnyard's worth of animals running wild。 I'm talking dogs； cats； chickens； even snakes。
I swear to God； her brothers have a boa constrictor in
their room。 They dragged me in there when I was about ten and made me watch it eat a rat。
A live； beady…eyed rat。 They held that rodent up by its
tail and gulp； the boa swallowed it whole。 That snake gave me nightmares for a month。
Anyway； normally I wouldn't care about someone's yard； but the Bakers' mess bugged my
dad big…time； and he channeled his frustration into our
yard。 He said it was our neighborly duty to show them what a yard's supposed to look like。
So while Mike and Matt are busy plumping up their boa；
I'm having to mow and edge our yard； then sweep the walkways and gutter； which is going a
little overboard； if you ask me。
And you'd think Juli's dad—who's a big； strong； bricklaying dude — would fix the place up；
but no。 According to my mom； he spends all his free
time painting。 His landscapes don't seem like anything special to me； but judging by his price
tags； he thinks quite a lot of them。 We see them every
year at the Mayfield County Fair； and my parents always say the same thing： “The world
would have more beauty in it if he'd fix up the yard instead。”
Mom and Juli's mom do talk some。 I think my mom feels sorry for Mrs。 Baker — she says
she married a dreamer； and because of that； one of the
two of them will always be unhappy。
Whatever。 Maybe Juli's aesthetic sensibilities have been permanently screwed up by her
father and none of this is her fault； but Juli has always
thought that that sycamore tree was God's gift to our little corner of the universe。
Back in the third and fourth grades she used to clown around with her brothers in the
branches or peel big chunks of bark off so they could slide
down the crook in its trunk。 It seemed like they were playing in it whenever my mom took us
somewhere in the car。 Juli'd be swinging from the
branches； ready to fall and break every bone in her body； while we were waiting at the
stoplight； and my mom would shake her head and say； “Don't
you ever climb that tree like that； do you hear me； Bryce？ I never want to see you doing that！
You either； Lyta。 That is much too dangerous。”
My sister would roll her eyes and say； “As if；” while I'd slump beneath the window and pray
for the light to change before Juli squealed my name
for the world to hear。
I did try to climb it once in the fifth grade。 It was the day after Juli had rescued my kite from
its mutant toy…eating foliage。 She climbed miles up to
get my kite； and when she came down； she was actually very cool about it。 She didn't hold
my kite hostage and stick her lips out like I was afraid
she might。 She just handed it over and then backed away。
……… Page 12………
I was relieved； but I also felt like a weenie。 When I'd seen where my kite was trapped； I was
sure it was a goner。 Not Juli。 She scrambled up and
got it down in no time。 Man； it was embarrassing。
So I made a mental picture of how high she'd climbed； and the next day I set off to outdo her
by at least two branches。 I made it past the crook； up
a few limbs； and then — just to see how I was doing — I looked down。
Mis…take！ It felt like I was on top of the Empire State Building without a bungee。 I tried looking
up to where my kite had been； but it was hopeless。 I
was indeed a tree…climbing weenie。
Then junior high started and my dream of a Juli…free existence shattered。 I had to take the
bus； and you…know…who did； too。 There were about
eight kids altogether at our bus stop； which created a buffer zone； but it was no fort zone。
Juli always tried to stand beside me； or talk to me； or
in some other way mortify me。
And then she started climbing。 The girl is in the seventh grade； and she's climbing a tree —
way； way up in a tree。 And why does she do it？ So
she can yell down at us that the bus is five！ four！ three blocks away！ Blow…by…blow traffic
watch from a tree — what every kid in junior high feels like
hearing first thing in the morning。
She tried to get me to e up there with her； too。 “Bryce； e on！ You won't believe the
colors！ It's absolutely magnificent！ Bryce； you've got to
e up here！”
Yeah； I could just hear it： “Bryce and Juli sitting in a tree…” Was I ever going to leave the
second grade behind？
One morning I was specifically not looking up when out of nowhere she swings down from a
branch and practically knocks me over。 Heart attack！
I dropped my backpack and wrenched my neck； and that did it。 I refused to wait under that
tree with that maniac monkey on the loose
anymore。 I started leaving the house at the very last minute。 I made up my own waiting spot；
and when I'd see the bus pull up； I'd truck up the hill and
get on board。
No Juli； no problem。
And that； my friend； took care of the rest of seventh grade and almost all of eighth； too； until
one day a few months ago。 That's when I heard a
motion up the hill and could see some big trucks parked up on Collier Street where the
bus pulls in。 There were some men shouting stuff up at
Juli； who was； of course； five stories up in the tree。
All the other kids started to gather under the tree； too； and I could hear them telling her she
had to e down。 She was fine — that was obvious
to anyone with a pair of ears — but I couldn't figure out what they were all arguing about。
I trucked up the hill； and as I got closer and saw what the men were holding； I figured out in a
hurry what was making Juli refuse to e out of the
tree。
Chain saws。
Don't get me wrong here； okay？ The tree was an ugly mutant tangle of gnarly branches。 The
girl arguing with those men was Juli — the world's
peskiest； bossiest； most know…it…all female。 But all of a sudden my stomach pletely bailed
on me。 Juli loved that tree。 Stupid as