双语畅销书·怦然心动 Chapter 03　哥们儿，小心点！

Chapter 03

哥们儿，小心点！

好吧，七年级是充满变化的一年，但是最大的变化并非发生在学校，而是在家里。邓肯外公搬来和我们一起住了。

最开始的时候是有点奇怪，因为我们中间没有谁真正认识他。当然，除了妈妈。虽然她用了一年半的时间告诉我们他是个多么伟大的人，但在我看来，他最喜欢做的事就是从临街的窗户朝外望。除了贝克家的前院，那里没什么好看的，但他不管白天黑夜都待在那儿，坐在和他一起搬进家门的大号安乐椅上，望着窗外。

好吧，他也读汤姆·克兰西的惊悚小说、看报纸、做填字游戏、看看股票行情，但这些不过是对他看街景这件事的插花。没人提出反对意见，这人总是看着窗外直到睡着为止。虽然也说不上有什么不对，但这样真的……挺无聊的。

妈妈说，他眺望窗外是因为想念外婆，但外公是不会和我讨论这件事的。实际上，他从来不跟我讨论什么事，直到几个月前，他在报纸上看到了朱莉。

不像你想的那样，朱莉安娜·贝克并不是作为八年级的未来的爱因斯坦登上了《梅菲尔德时报》头版。不，伙计，她能登上头版是因为她不愿意从一棵无花果树上下来。

虽然我分不清无花果树、枫树和桦树，但朱莉显然知道那是什么树，并且守在那里把这个常识分享给她遇见的每一个人。

所以，这棵树，这棵无花果树，长在山坡上克里尔街的一片空地里，很大很大，而且又大又丑。它的树干扭曲，长满节疤，弯弯曲曲，我总觉得一阵风就能把它吹倒。

去年的某一天，我终于听够了她关于这棵蠢树的唠叨。我径直走到她面前，告诉她那棵无花果树一点儿也不美，实际上，那是有史以来最难看的一棵树。你猜她怎么回答？她说我的眼睛大概有毛病。眼睛有毛病！这就是那个邻里环境破坏之王家的姑娘说出来的话。她家的灌木长得比窗户还高，到处杂草丛生，谷仓前面的空场快变成野生动物园了。我是说，她家有狗、猫、鸡，甚至养了几条蛇。我敢对天发誓，她哥哥在卧室里养了条大蟒蛇。十岁那年，他们把我拽进屋子，强迫我看着那条大蟒蛇吞下一只耗子。一只活蹦乱跳、眼睛滴溜溜转的耗子。他们提着那只啮齿动物的尾巴，大蟒一下子就整只吞下去了。这条蛇让我做了一个月的噩梦。

不管怎么说，我平时很少关心别人家的院子，但贝克家一团混乱的院子是我爸爸最大的心病，而他则把这种挫折的情绪倾泻在我家院子里。他说，我们有义务让邻居看看一个正常的院子该有的模样。

所以，当麦克和马特忙于投喂蟒蛇的时候，我只好忙着给院子除草、修剪草坪，打扫车道和水沟，而且依我看，我好像还真干得越来越投入了。

如果你以为朱莉的爸爸——一位又高又壮的砖瓦工——会打理院子，那就错了。据我妈妈透露，他把全部业余时间都用来画画了。他的风景画对我来说没什么特别的，但是从价签上看，他很看重这些画。每年梅菲尔德县交易会上都能看到它们，我爸妈从来只说一句话：“如果他肯把花在画画上的时间拿来打理院子，世界会变得更美好。”

我妈妈和朱莉的妈妈有时聊天。我猜想妈妈比较同情贝克夫人——她说她嫁了一个梦想家，所以，他们俩当中总有一个人过得不快乐。

那又怎样。也许朱莉对美的敏感正是遗传自她爸爸，并不是她的错。但朱莉总觉得那棵无花果树是上帝送给我们宇宙中这个小小角落的一份礼物。

三年级和四年级的时候，她经常和哥哥们一起坐在树杈上，或者剥下大块的树皮以便沿着树干滑到杈弯。无论什么时候妈妈开车带我们出门去，总能看见他们在那里玩。我们等红灯的时候，朱莉就在树杈间荡来荡去，总是快要摔下来跌断每一根骨头的样子，于是妈妈就会摇着头说：“你永远也不许像这个样子爬树，听见没有，布莱斯？我永远也不想看到你这样！你也是，利奈特。实在太危险了！”

姐姐一般会翻个白眼，说“废话”。而我则把头躲到车窗下面，祈祷在朱莉还没把我的名字喊得震天响之前赶紧变灯。

我确实试着爬过那棵树，只有一次，在五年级。在那之前一天，朱莉帮我把风筝从树上那些会“吃玩具的叶子”里取了下来。为了取我的风筝，她爬到特别高的地方，下来之后一脸淡定。她没有扣下风筝作为“人质”，也没像我担心的那样噘起嘴巴不理我。她只是把风筝递给我，然后转身走了。

我松了口气，同时觉得自己太逊了。当时我看到风筝挂住的位置，马上认定它已经回不来了。但朱莉不这么想。她二话不说就爬上树帮我拿下来。嘿，这真让人尴尬。

我默默地计算了一下她到底爬了多高，然后第二天计划至少爬到比她高出两根树枝的位置。我攀上了第一个大的杈弯，向上爬了两三根枝杈，然后——只是想看看自己进展如何——我向下看去。

大——错——特——错！我仿佛站在帝国大厦的顶层，没系安全带。我试着抬头寻找昨天风筝挂住的位置，但是根本看不见。我是个不折不扣的爬树白痴。

上了初中，我以为朱莉会从此消失的梦想也破灭了。我需要坐校车，而那个名字也不能提的人也是。我们这一站大概有八个学生一起等车，总是吵吵嚷嚷的，算是缓冲地带，但绝不是个安全地带。

朱莉总想站在我身边，跟我说话，或者用别的什么方法来折磨我。

最后她选择了爬树。一个七年级的女孩，开始爬树——爬得高高的。为什么？因为这样她就能居高临下地冲我们喊：校车离这儿还有五……四……三条街！一个挂在树上的流水账式的交通岗哨！每个初中同学每天早上听到的第一句话就是她说的。

她想叫我爬上去跟她待在一起：“布莱斯，上来呀！你绝对无法想象这儿的景色有多美！太神奇了！布莱斯，你一定要上来看看！”

是啊，我都能想象出来：“布莱斯和朱莉坐在树上……”二年级的往事，难道还阴魂不散吗？

一天早晨，我刻意地没有向树上看去，她忽然从树杈上跳下来，生生地撞到了我。害得我心脏病都要犯了！

我的背包掉在地上，还扭到了脖子，都赖她。我再也不愿意跟这只从精神病院跑出来的发疯的猴子一起在树下等车了。从此以后，我总是拖到最后一分钟才从家里出来。我设置了属于自己的校车站，看到校车快到了，就冲到山坡上去登车。

没有朱莉，就没有麻烦。

这种状况贯穿了七年级和八年级的大多数时间，一直延续到几个月前的一天。那天，我听到山坡上一阵骚动，几辆卡车停在克里尔街平时的校车站。一些人仰着头冲朱莉喊着什么，而她当然是在五层楼高的树顶上。

孩子们也慢慢朝树下聚拢过来，我听见他们说她必须从树上下来。她很好——对于任何一个耳朵没有问题的人来说都听得出来——但我不明白他们在吵什么。

我冲上山坡，当我离得近一点儿、看清那些人手里拿的是什么，我立刻明白了为什么朱莉拒绝从树上下来。

那是一台链锯。

千万别误解。这棵树长满了多瘤的树脂，纠结成难看的一团。和那些人吵架的人是朱莉——全世界最麻烦、最霸道、永远全知全能的女人。但是一瞬间我的胃就抽搐起来。朱莉爱这棵树，虽然听起来很蠢，可她就是爱这棵树，砍树就等于在她的心里砍上一刀。

每个人都劝她下来，包括我在内。但她说绝不下树，永远也不，然后她试图说服我们。“布莱斯，求你了！上来跟我一起。如果我们在这儿，他们就不敢砍树了！”

我思考了一秒钟。但这时校车来了，我告诉自己不要卷进去，这不是我的树，同样这也不是朱莉的树，虽然她表现得好像是她的。

我们登上校车，把她一个人留在那里，但这些都没有用。我忍不住一直在想朱莉，她还在树顶上吗？他们会不会把她抓起来？

放学后，当校车把我们送回来的时候，朱莉已经不见了，一起消失的还有上半棵树。顶部的树枝，我的风筝曾经卡住的地方，她最最心爱的栖身之地——统统消失了。

我们在那儿看了一会儿，看链锯如何开足马力，冒着浓烟，就像在把木头嚼一嚼吞下去似的。大树看起来摇摇欲坠，毫无还手之力，没过多久，我就非得离开那里不可。这活像是在观察一个分尸现场，有生以来，我第一次有种想要尖叫的感觉。为了一棵愚蠢的、我痛恨已久的树而尖叫。

回到家里，我试着忘掉这一切，但总是不由自主地想到，我是不是应该爬到树上，和她在一起？那样会有用吗？

我想给朱莉打个电话，说我很抱歉他们还是把树砍掉了，但始终没有打。我不知道这是不是会显得，呃，很奇怪。

第二天早上，她没有出现在校车站，下午也没有坐校车回家。

那天晚上，快要吃饭之前，外公把我召唤到前厅。他并没有在我经过那里的时候叫住我——那样就显得我们已经是朋友了。他只是告诉了我妈妈，然后妈妈再转告给我。“我不知道他想干什么，亲爱的，”她说，“也许他准备更进一步地了解你。”

很好。他已经认识我超过一年半了，却选择眼下这个时候来了解我。可我又不敢放他鸽子。

我的外公是个高大的人，他长着一只肉乎乎的鼻子，灰白的头发向后梳成背头。他常年穿着室内拖鞋和运动衫，我从来没见他留过胡须。胡子确实在长，但他几乎一天要刮三遍。对他来说，这是一种休闲娱乐活动。

除了一只肉肉的鼻子，他的手也又大又厚。我想人们大概不会太在意别人的手，但那只结婚戒指会让你意识到他的手有多结实。它从来没有被摘下来过，虽然妈妈说婚戒本来就不该摘下来，但我想恐怕只有切断它才能从他手上拿下来。如果外公再胖上几磅，戒指就会勒断他的手指。

当我见到他的时候，那双手握在一起，盖在他膝盖头的报纸上。我说：“外公，你找我？”

“坐下，我的孩子。”

孩子？大部分时间他根本就像不认识我一样，而现在我却忽然变成了他的“孩子”？我在对面的椅子上坐下，等着他说话。

“跟我说说你的朋友朱莉安娜·贝克吧。”

“朱莉？她不算是我的朋友……”

“为什么？”他冷静地问，好像早就知道我会这么说。

我开始辩解，然后停下来：“你为什么要问这个？”

他翻开报纸，抚平上面的折痕，我这才发现，朱莉安娜·贝克上了今天《梅菲尔德时报》的头版。

那是一张她在树上的大照片，周围是一整支消防队，还有警察，旁边配了几张小图片，我看不清楚。“能让我看看吗？”我说。

他把报纸叠起来，但没有递给我：“她为什么不是你的朋友，布莱斯？”

“因为她……”我猛摇头，试着向他解释，“你认识了朱莉自然会明白。”

“我很想认识她。”

“啊？为什么？”

“因为这姑娘很有骨气。你为什么不找个时间请她来家里玩呢？”

“有骨气？外公，你不明白！她是我遇到过的最大的麻烦。她是个活宝、百事通，还固执得不可救药！”

“真的吗？”

“没错！千真万确！而且她从二年级就开始跟踪我！”

他皱起眉头，然后望向窗外：“他们在那儿住了这么久？”

“我觉得他们简直在隔壁住了一辈子了！”

他眉头上的皱纹又加深了，目光回到我的身上：“你知道吗，不是每个人的隔壁都住着一个这样的女孩。”

“那他们真是太走运了！”

他长时间地、深深地审视着我。我问他：“怎么了？”但他没有退缩，而是继续盯着我看，而我退缩了——把目光转向一边。

别忘了，这是我和外公之间的第一次对话。这是他第一次想要跟我说点除了“把盐递过来”以外的话题。而他是想了解我吗？不！他只想了解朱莉！

我真恨不得马上跳起来逃跑，但还是按捺住了。不知怎么的，我知道如果我真的离开这里，那他就再也不会跟我说话了，连递盐这种话也不会再说。我坐在那儿，像受刑一样。他生气了吗？他凭什么对我生气？我根本什么也没做错！

当我抬起头的时候，他坐在那里把报纸递了过来。“看看这个，”他说，“不要有偏见。”

我接过报纸，而他又开始眺望窗外，我知道——我被丢在一边了。

回到自己的房间里，我气坏了。我关上卧室的门，把自己摔到床上，对外公生了一会儿气之后，把报纸塞进了书桌最下面的抽屉。谁愿意再多了解朱莉安娜·贝克的事啊！

吃晚饭的时候，妈妈问我为什么拉着一张脸，还不停地把目光停留在我和外公身上。看来外公不需要我递盐给他，幸好如此，否则我很可能会把盐瓶扔给他。

不过，姐姐和爸爸都和平时一样。利奈特从她的胡萝卜沙拉里挑出两个葡萄干吃了，然后把鸡翅剥掉皮、切成几段、细细地从骨头上啃下软骨；爸爸则占领了大家的耳朵，谈论着办公室政治和高管换血的需要。

没人在听——每次他说起这些“假如我是老大”的白日梦，都没人认真在听——但是这一次，甚至连妈妈都没有假装在听。

而且今天她也没有试着说服利奈特多吃点。她只是一直看着我和外公，想找出我们彼此怒目相向的原因。

他没什么理由可生我的气。我到底怎么惹着他了？没有，我什么都没做。但他确实生气了，我能看得出来。而我则彻底不去看他，直到晚饭吃到一半的时候，我才偷偷地向他瞥了一眼。

好吧，他在端详着我。他的目光即使不算是恶狠狠的、冷酷的，也至少是严格的、坚定的，让我觉得如坐针毡。

他到底想干吗？

我不再看他，也不看妈妈，继续专心吃饭，假装听爸爸聊天。一有机会，我就找了个借口回到自己的房间。

我打算像平时一样，在心烦意乱的时候给我的朋友加利特打个电话。号码拨出去了，我却不知道该说些什么，只好又挂了电话。当妈妈进屋的时候，我假装自己已经睡着了。这是好几年都没有发生过的事了。整个晚上，我都被这种奇怪的情绪包围着，只想一个人待着。

第二天，朱莉没有出现在校车站，星期五的早晨也是。她去学校了，但如果没有亲眼见到她，你根本感受不到她的存在。她没有挥着手要求老师叫她回答问题，也没有冲过走廊奔去上课。她没有在老师讲课的时候抢着接下茬，也没有制止不按顺序排队的孩子。她只是坐在那儿，安安静静地坐着。

我想说服自己，说她现在这样很好——就像她根本不存在一样，这不是我长期以来的希望吗？但是，我仍然高兴不起来。因为她的树，因为她在图书馆里一个人狼吞虎咽地吃午餐，因为她哭红的眼眶。我想跟她说：“嗨，我真为你的无花果树感到难过。”但始终没有说出口。

接下来的一个星期，他们又花了几天的时间运走那棵树。工人们清理了土地，还试图挖出树根，但它顽固地不肯动地方，所以人们转而锯掉树桩，让剩余的部分隐没在土里。

朱莉仍然没有出现在校车站，周末的时候，我听加利特说她骑了一辆自行车。他说上个星期有两次看到她在路边骑着一辆生锈的老旧十挡变速车，链条拖在变速器上。

我猜她会回来的。去梅菲尔德中学的路很长，等她把树的事忘在脑后，就会重新回到校车上。我甚至发现自己会不由自主地搜索她的身影。不是有意去找，只是希望能看到她。

一个雨天，我以为她肯定会来等校车，但她没有。加利特说看到她穿着一件鲜黄色的雨衣踩着单车，数学课上我发现她的裤子从膝盖以下全湿透了。

下课以后，我跟在她后面，想说服她重新乘坐校车，但是在最后一刻，我还是放弃了。我到底在想什么？朱莉根本不会在意一句友善的关怀，并且完全可能误解我的意思。嘿，伙计，你要注意了！最好还是离她远点吧。

不管怎么说，我最不希望看到的事情，就是让朱莉安娜·贝克以为我在想她。

Chapter 03

Buddy, Beware!

BRYCE

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.

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, Lynetta. 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.

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 comfort 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 come up there with her, too. "Bryce, come on! You won't believe the colors! It's absolutely magnificent! Bryce, you've got to come 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 a-ttack! 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 any more. 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 commotion 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 come 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 come 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 completely bailed on me. Juli loved that tree. Stupid as it was, she loved that tree, and cutting it down would be like cutting out her heart.

Everyone tried to talk her down. Even me. But she said she wasn't coming down, not ever, and then she tried to talk us up. "Bryce, please! Come up here with me. They won't cut it down if we're all up here!"

For a second I considered it. But then the bus arrived and I talked myself out of it. It wasn't my tree, and even though she acted like it was, it wasn't Juli's, either.

We boarded the bus and left her behind, but school was pretty much a waste. I couldn't seem to stop thinking about Juli. Was she still up in the tree? Were they going to arrest her?

When the bus dropped us off that afternoon, Juli was gone and so was half the tree. The top branches, the place my kite had been stuck, her favorite perch — they were all gone.

We watched them work for a little while, the chain saws gunning at full throttle, smoking as they chewed through wood. The tree looked lopsided and naked, and after a few minutes I had to get out of there. It was like watching someone dismember a body, and for the first time in ages, I felt like crying. Crying. Over a stupid tree that I hated.

I went home and tried to shake it off, but I kept wondering, Should I have gone up the tree with her? Would it have done any good?

I thought about calling Juli to tell her I was sorry they'd cut it down, but I didn't. It would've been too, I don't know, weird.

She didn't show at the bus stop the next morning and didn't ride the bus home that afternoon, either.

Then that night, right before dinner, my grandfather summoned me into the front room. He didn't call to me as I was walking by —that would have bordered on friendliness. What he did was talk to my mother, who talked to me. "I don't know what it's about, honey,"she said. "Maybe he's just ready to get to know you a little better."

Great. The man's had a year and a half to get acquainted, and he chooses now to get to know me. But I couldn't exactly blow him off.

My grandfather's a big man with a meaty nose and greased-back salt-and-pepper hair. He lives in house slippers and a sports coat, and I've never seen a whisker on him. They grow, but he shaves them off like three times a day. It's a real recreational activity for him.

Besides his meaty nose, he's also got big meaty hands. I suppose you'd notice his hands regardless, but what makes you realize just how beefy they are is his wedding ring. That thing's never going to come off, and even though my mother says that's how it should be, I think he ought to get it cut off. Another few pounds and that ring's going to amputate his finger.

When I went in to see him, those big hands of his were woven together, resting on the newspaper in his lap. I said, "Granddad? You wanted to see me?"

Have a seat, son.

Son? Half the time he didn't seem to know who I was, and now suddenly I was "son"? I sat in the chair opposite him and waited.

Tell me about your friend Juli Baker.

Juli? She's not exactly my friend ... !

Why is that? he asked. Calmly. Like he had prior knowledge.

I started to justify it, then stopped myself and asked, "Why do you want to know?"

He opened the paper and pressed down the crease, and that's when I realized that Juli Baker had made the front page of the Mayfield Times. There was a huge picture of her in the tree, surrounded by a fire brigade and policemen, and then some smaller photos I couldn't make out very well. "Can I see that?"

He folded it up but didn't hand it over. "Why isn't she your friend, Bryce?"

Because she's... I shook my head and said, "You'd have to know Juli."

I'd like to.

What? Why?

Because the girl's got an iron backbone. Why don't you invite her over sometime?

An iron backbone? Granddad, you don't understand! That girl is a royal pain. She's a show-off, she's a know-it-all, and she is pushy beyond belief!

Is that so?

Yes! That's absolutely so! And she's been stalking me since the second grade!

He frowned, then looked out the window and asked, "They've lived there that long?"

I think they were all born there!

He frowned some more before he looked back at me and said, "A girl like that doesn't live next door to everyone, you know."

Lucky them!

He studied me, long and hard. I said, "What?"but he didn't flinch. He just kept staring at me, and I couldn't take it — I had to look away.

Keep in mind that this was the first real conversation I'd had with my grandfather. This was the first time he'd made the effort to talk to me about something besides passing the salt. And does he want to get to know me? No! He wants to know about Juli!

I couldn't just stand up and leave, even though that's what I felt like doing. Somehow I knew if I left like that, he'd quit talking to me at all. Even about salt. So I sat there feeling sort of tortured. Was he mad at me? How could he be mad at me? I hadn't done anything wrong!

When I looked up, he was sitting there holding out the newspaper to me. "Read this," he said. "Without prejudice."

I took it, and when he went back to looking out the window, I knew — I'd been dismissed.

By the time I got down to my room, I was mad. I slammed my bedroom door and flopped down on the bed, and after fuming about my sorry excuse for a grandfather for a while, I shoved the newspaper in the bottom drawer of my desk. Like I needed to know any more about Juli Baker.

At dinner my mother asked me why I was so sulky, and she kept looking from me to my grandfather. Granddad didn't seem to need any salt, which was a good thing because I might have thrown the shaker at him.

My sister and dad were all business as usual, though. Lynetta ate about two raisins out of her carrot salad, then peeled the skin and meat off her chicken wing and nibbled gristle off the bone, while my father filled up airspace talking about office politics and the need for a shakedown in upper management.

No one was listening to him — no one ever does when he gets on one of his if-I-ran-the-circus jags — but for once Mom wasn't even pretending. And for once she wasn't trying to convince Lynetta that dinner was delicious either. She just kept eyeing me and Granddad, trying to pick up on why we were miffed at eachother.

Not that he had anything to be miffed at me about. What had I done to him, anyway? Nothing. Nada. But he was, I could tell. And I completely avoided looking at him until about halfway through dinner, when I sneaked apeek.

He was studying me, all right. And even though it wasn't a mean stare, or a hard stare, it was, you know, firm. Steady. And it weirded me out. What was his deal?

I didn't look at him again. Or at my mother. I just went back to eating and pretended to listen to my dad. And the first chance I got, I excused myself and holed up in my room.

I was planning to call my friend Garrett like I usually do when I'm bent about something. I even punched in his number, but I don't know. I just hung up.

And later when my mom came in, I faked like I was sleeping. I haven't done that in years. The whole night was weird like that. I just wanted to be left alone.

Juli wasn't at the bus stop the next morning. Or Friday morning.She was at school, but you'd never know it if you didn't actually look. She didn't whip her hand through the air trying to get the teacher to call on her or charge through the halls getting to class. She didn't make unsolicited comments for the teacher's 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 wasn't even there, and isn't that what I'd 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, I'm sorry about your sycamore tree, but the words never seemed to come out.

By the middle of the next week, they'd 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 didn't show at the bus stop, and by the end of the week I learned from Garrett that she was riding a bike. He said he'd 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 she'd be back. It was a long ride out to Mayfield Junior High, and once she got over the tree, she'd 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 she'd 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 wouldn't take a little friendly concern and completely 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.