Jacob's Trouble

    Lupe Morales liked me. It was a miracle.

    Lupe was a straight-A student, the smartest kid in school. She could read in Spanish or English. She could write in both languages. She had even won awards for her stories. And for her photos. She wanted to be a news reporter, so she took a camera and a notebook everywhere.

    I was not a straight-A student. Not even straight-B! I was lucky if I was straight-C. When I tried to read, the words kept moving around. The letters were always jumping. I couldn't remember things I read. If someone read to me, then it was better. But in school, they expected you to read everything yourself. Not be read to like a little kid. So I had problems.

    But Lupe didn't care. She actually liked me! I once asked her why she liked me. She said, "You're a good person, Jacob. You're solid. You're honest. And I do think you're smart. Not school smart, but smart at other things."

    I didn't think so, but I was sure glad she did. I called her Loop for short, because when she wasn't writing or taking pictures, she was knitting. Making loops with yarn. Loop after loop after loop. Add them all up, and they turned into sweaters. She was so good that she could knit in the dark, without even looking at her hands.

    "Why do you knit all the time?" I once asked her.

    "I hate doing nothing," she said. "Knitting keeps me busy. And I like what I make."

    "I like what you make, too," I said. She was wearing a sweater she made. It looked great on her!

    Her parents owned a store on South Broad Street, the mainstreet in our town. They sold Mexican groceries. I loved the delicious smells in that store. Her mother made enchiladas, tacos, and tamales. She sold them to workers who were far from home, far away from their families back in Mexico. Every day at lunchtime there was a line down the block.

    When I started going out with Lupe, my mother told me, "I know this is your first real girlfriend. She's a nice, smart girl. And I don't want to hear about any trouble with her. You better behave yourself. If you know what I mean."

    When I started going out with Lupe, he told me, "If you ever make my sister cry, your face will never look the same. You will have to eat all your food without any teeth. If you know what I mean."

    "I know what you mean," I said. And I treated her like the queen she was.

    Before Lupe's parents opened their store, my mom, my dad, and her parents worked
together at The Mill. Everyone in town called it The Mill. Most people in town either worked there, or had someone in their family who worked there.

    A long time ago, it was a knitting mill. They made underwear and t-shirts. Did you know that underwear is knitted? It is. If you look at it close up, you can see the little tiny loops. Like Lupe's sweaters, but much smaller.

    But the knitting mill closed and it turned into a plastic factory. They made the plastic boxes that car batteries go in. It was a smaller factory, so some of the workers lost their jobs. My mom was one of them. She kept looking for another job. She got one working at the donut shop.

    Lupe's parents lost their jobs too. That was when they opened their store.

    My dad kept working at the plastic factory. He fixed all the machines there, so they couldn't run the place without him.

    But after a few months, he started getting more and more tired. "You're working too much," my mom told him.

    "I just need to get a good night's sleep," he said. He got a good night's sleep, and he was still tired. Tired, and quiet, like there were things he couldn't say. He was thinner, too. No matter how much he ate, he got skinnier and skinnier.

    Finally, he went to the doctor. They kept him in the hospital. They said they were going to do some tests.

    "Today we're going to the hospital to see your dad," was all she said.

    "OK," I said.

    When we got to the hospital, my dad was in a room by himself, with a plastic bag of medicine attached to a pole next to him. The clear liquid dripped slowly through a tube, from the bag into his arm.

    "And, uh" she looked at a folder of papers he was carrying. "Jacob?"

    "Yeah," I said. I stood up too.

    "No, no, you can sit down. Please. Thank you for bringing your son in today, Mrs. Gardner. I'm glad we have this chance to talk."

    Cancer?

    "Is he going to die?" I interrupted.

    The doctor looked at me. Right into my eyes. "We don't know," she said. "He is very ill. But we'll do everything we can to help him."

    My mother started crying.

    I just stayed frozen.

    The doctor kept talking. She said that once they figured out the right treatment for my dad, he could probably come home from the hospital. Nurses could come visit him at the house. For a while, though, he would stay in the hospital. He had already been in a lot of pain at home and now he was finally getting relief from it. That was what the bag of medicine on the pole was. Pain relief.

    I actually don't remember much after that. Don't remember driving home, or talking to my mom, or going to bed.

    But I didn't want to be scared. It was scary to be scared. So instead, I got mad. Really mad. Mad that my dad was sick. Mad that he might die.

    I got up, in the dark, and got dressed. Put on my socks and shoes. Went into the hall.

    And it made me so mad that I wasn't scared of the dark anymore.

    I went down the street. Walked a few blocks. I found myself in an alley behind an old, run-down building that no one used anymore.

    Someone had broken one of its windows.

    I wondered how it would feel to smash a window like that. Before I knew it, I had a rock in my hand. That was one thing I was good at. I could throw and hit anything I wanted to, pretty much everytime. I had been good at that since I was little.

    I threw the rock. It hit the window just right.

    Smash! The sound echoed down the street. Man, did that feel good. It was like I was breaking my dad's cancer. Breaking my fear. I wished I could do another one. But I didn't want to get caught. So I ran.

    Back home, back inside, pajamas on, pretending to be asleep. I lay there with my eyes closed tight, trying hard to sleep. Trying to close my eyes so tight that no tears could get out. I thought about my dad for the longest time. Then finally, I fell asleep for real.

    On Monday, my English teacher, Mr. Kloot, stood with his arms folded. "Jacob. In the book To Kill a Mockingbird, do all the characters have an equal chance to have life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?"

    "Uh, they... I don't know."

    He asked me why I hadn't done my homework. I didn't want to tell him about my dad. I was not a crying kind of guy, but if I told him about my dad, I might cry. So I just folded my arms and looked down and didn't say anything when he asked.

    "Since you seem to like being quiet, I'll give you some reasons to be quiet. Three of them. I expect three book reports by next Friday. All that reading should give you enough quiet time."

    Oh, just shoot me now, I wanted to say. Read three books by next week! He might as well ask me to fly to the moon. "Long books?" I asked. "How many pages?"

    "Here's a list of books. Pick three of these." He slapped a piece of paper into my hand.

    It was a long list. Full of long, long books. Just great.

    He used to throw me in the air. I remember the world spinning and then he'd catch me. He always had time for me. He was the strongest, safest, best dad in the world.

    I looked at him now, in his hospital bed with the light-blue sheets and the plastic bags of medicine dripping into his skinny arm.

    When my dad wasn't working at The Mill, he was in his workshop behind our house, making things. He made furniture. Bookcases, tables, chairs. Our house was full of beautiful things that he made. He sold them, too. Lots of people in town had furniture he had built.

    After school the next day, while my mom was working at the donut shop, I went into his workshop and sat on his stool.

    He had just started making a dresser for my mom. He had a stack of beautiful pieces of wood all ready for it. On top of them was a sheet of paper with drawings and numbers. All the measurements he would need to make the dresser and the drawers. On the wall, he had racks of tools. Each tool had a black outline traced around it with a marker. When you took a tool off the wall, the empty outline reminded you to put the tool back when you were done. It was very orderly. Looking at the wall, with the black outlines all filled in with the right tools, always made me feel good. Safe. Nice and orderly.

    Him being sick made me feel unsafe. Him being in the hospital was like having the hammer missing from the rack.

    That night, I didn't read any of the books for my English assignment. I didn't do my math homework, and I didn't do my history homework either. I sat in my room, feeling mad, watching the clock. When my mom was asleep, I snuck out again.

    I went back to the empty old building. I saw the two broken windowsone I had done, and one from someone before me. I picked up a rock and threw it. Smash! Three broken windows in a row. Tic-tac-toe. I win.

    Get lost, cancer.

    Someone stepped out from around the side of the building. The streetlight shone on the top of his big head and wide shoulders. It was Nathan Sprague. I knew him from school. He was a tough kid. A bully. He had never bothered me before, but I didn't like him.

    Was that true? I had no idea. He would know. He had already been to juvenile jail. Twice.

    I had made it all the way through school without them bothering me. That was a miracle. Now my miracle was over. They gave me dirty looks as Nathan pushed me over to them.

    "What's this loser doing here?" Pelland asked. He threw down his cigarette butt. He had a crowbar in one hand. For a second I thought he was going to hit me with it.

    "This loser can throw," Nathan told them.

     He pushed my shoulder and turned me around.

    "Ok, loser. See the security camera above the back door of that store? Throw this brick and smash it. Otherwise we'll break your arm. It's so simple, even someone as stupid as you can understand it. Got it?"

    He handed me a brick. Then the three of them stood, arms folded, watching me. I looked at the camera, figuring how far it was and how hard to throw. If I didn't do it, they would break my arm. And tell the cops about the windows, and send me to jail.

    I threw the brick. The camera smashed. Pieces of it fell to the ground. I stayed hunched down behind the garbage bin.

    They ran toward the door of the store. I heard them jamming the crowbar into the lock and breaking it open. Then they ran into the store.

    I stayed behind the garbage bin, afraid to move.

    I picked up the stuff they threw at me and ran. My stomach hurt. I passed another garbage bin and threw all of the stuff into it. I hated smoking. And stolen candy just didn't sound that delicious.

    At home, my mother was still sleeping. The house was all dark. I was so nervous that I was shaking. My stomach was killing me. I went into the bathroom and threw up. Then I got into bed. It took a long time before my heart stopped pounding. Every time a car drove by, I thought it was the police coming to get me.

    When the sun came up, I fell asleep. But an hour later, my alarm went off. Time to go to school.

    At school, Nathan came up behind me in the hall and twisted my arm up behind my back. It hurt. A lot.

    "Remember what I told you," Nathan said. "Keep your mouth shut. Oh, and meet us at the same place at midnight tonight."

    At midnight, I was there.

    That night, we didn't steal anything. We just smashed things. I smashed six windows.

    The night after that, I broke two more windows and spray-painted a curse word on the brick wall behind the car wash.

    The three bullies gave me high fives.

    I was just mad, and throwing bricks and hitting things so perfectly made me feel better. For a second. But one second of feeling better was better than not feeling better at all.

    Then other times, racing down dark streets, hearing dogs bark in people's houses as we ran by, I would know: This isn't going to make my dad any better.

    And I would try not to think about it, as I picked up another rock.

    On Monday, in school, Lupe came up to me in the hall.

    "What are you hanging around with those guys for?" she asked.

    "What guys?"

    "That Nathan and his friends. They're bad news."

    I agreed with her, but I couldn't tell her that. "Oh, they're OK."

    "No, they're not. They came into our store last week and stole stuff. One of them kept my dad busy, and the other ones put things under their jackets and walked out."

    "Did you call the cops?"

    Every afternoon, after school, I went to see my dad. Sometimes I went with my mom, but if she was working, I rode my bike and went by myself. Sometimes my dad was awake. Sometimes he was asleep. I didn't care. I just wanted to be with him. I hated leaving the hospital at 9 o'clock when they made all the visitors go home.

    In the middle of the school week, after running around with the guys, I came home at 2:30 in the morning. 

    "Jacob, I was worried. Where were you?"

    I didn't answer at first. Then I said, "Yeah, they are. They're bad news."

    "Is that who you were with?"

    "Yeah."

    "Are you doing drugs?"

    "No, mom, I swear I'm not."

    "What are you doing with them then?"

    I didn't answer.

    She said, "Jacob, if you're hanging out with troublemakers, maybe you should go talk to Uncle Cliff. He'll tell you what happens to boys like that."

    By Thursday, school was a blur. I was so tired. Mr. Kloot asked me where my book reports were.

    After school that day, my mom was working at the donut shop, so I rode my bike to the hospital to see my dad.

    When the boat takes off, you lift up in the air like a kite.

    It's amazing, but also very expensive. I had always wanted to do it. We could never afford it. My dad saw me watching the people flying.

    I gave them a thumbs-up back. I looked at my dad. He waved and gave me a thumbs-up.

    On the beach, my dad stood with his head tilted way back, watching me.

    Watching me, and waving. I waved back, and yelled, "Dad! This is awesome!"

    When my flight was over, the boat slowed and stopped. I came floating gently down. I landed standing up in shallow water, almost exactly where I had started. My dad was waiting for me. He gave me a huge hug and pounded my back.

    "Dad! That was incredible! Wow!" I was still laughing.

    On the way home, I was tired but happy. I looked over at my dad as he drove. I couldn't believe he had paid for me to do that.

    "Thanks, Dad," I said.

    He reached over and gave me a fake-punch on the shoulder. A friendly punch. He had a huge smile on his face. Almost as if he was the one who had flown.

    Now, he showed me the picture. "Remember this, Jacob?"

    "Yeah. It was awesome. I can't believe you did that, Dad. It must have cost your whole paycheck."

    I looked at the floor. If he knew what I was doing at night, he wouldn't say that.

    When I got home from the hospital, my mom wasn't home yet. There was a cooler sitting on our front steps. A note was taped to the top of it. It was from Lupe's mom. "Dear Mrs. Gardner, Lupe told me Mr. Gardner was sick. I thought you might not have time to cook. I hope you enjoy this supper."

    I picked up the cooler and brought it into the kitchen. It was full of hot, delicious-smelling Mexican food. A big tray of enchiladas. A container of fresh salsa. Homemade tortillas. Tacos. And a bunch of different Mexican sodas.

    The labels were all in Spanish:

    JARRITOS

    "A rich, fruity aroma," I said. I swirled the soda around in my glass and sniffed it, like the people on TV.

    "A nice bouquet. A fine vintage," my mom said.

    We both started laughing. It was like old times, before my dad got sick.

    I called Lupe's house. She picked up the phone.

    "Hi, Loop," I said.

    "Don't call me Loop," she said. "I'm not talking to you."

    "I wanted to thank you for the cooler."

    She said, "That was for your mom. Not you. My mom and I wanted to help your mom out. I'm mad at you."

    "But Lupe..."

    "I don't want to hear it. I don't talk to dirtbags." Then she hung up.

    I said, "What Mexican place?"

    "The store, idiot. Your little girlfriend's place. The only Mexican place. They probably have a lot of cash in there."

    My stomach hurt. I felt like I was going to throw up. Lupe's parents' store!

    "Tonight. Be in the alley behind South Broad Street at midnight."

    I was quiet.

    Nathan punched me in the shoulder. "You better not get any ideas about bailing out on us," he said. "Because if you do, you're dead."

    English was my last class of the day. It was the only class that Lupe was in with me. I kept trying to get her to look at me. She wouldn't. She kept her head turned away. She acted like her book was the most interesting thing in the world. For her, it probably was. She sure did love to read.

    I folded up the note and passed it to my buddy Craig Seaborne, who sat next to me. "Love note for me?" he said. I rolled my eyes and jerked my head toward Lupe, who sat on the other side of him.

    But as he was leaning over to give it to her, Mr. Kloot turned around. "Give me the note, Craig." Craig looked at me and shrugged. He handed the note to Mr. Kloot.

    Mr. Kloot crumpled it up without reading it and threw it in the wastebasket next to his desk. I wanted to slam my head against my desk.

    I went out into the hall to wait for Lupe.

    When I got home, I called the store. Geraldo answered.

    "Is Lupe there?" I asked.

    "Not for you, she isn't," he said.

    "Ok, Geraldo, listen, I have to tell you..."

    "Goodbye," he said, "We don't talk to racists." Then he hung up.

    I called back, but as soon as he heard my voice, he hung up again. I walked over there. Geraldo was standing behind the counter. He was talking to a cop. A big, burly cop. The cop's name was Officer Dassler. Lupe had told me about him. His mother was Mexican. He missed her home cooking, so he came into the store every afternoon to buy his dinner from Mrs. Morales.

    I could tell Officer Dassler about the break-in, but when he found out about all the other things I had done, he would arrest me. I turned around and ran home. I would have to think of something else.

    By the time midnight came, I hadn't thought of anything else. If I didn't show up, Nathan would come and kill me. So I showed up.

    I met the bullies in the alley behind Lupe's parents' store. We stayed behind a pile of old fruit and vegetable boxes, and peeked out at the store.

    A little light shone above the door. It reflected off some cases of glass bottles that were stacked next to the door, waiting to be recycled. Mexican soda bottles, like the ones Lupe's mother had sent over to us.

    Inside the store, it was dark. In the little office room upstairs, all the shades were down.

    No lights were on. "Listen, uh, I don't think this is such a good idea," I said.

    I looked at him in the dim light. His eyes were shining. He was so happy that I was a dirtbag now too. It wasn't enough for him that I was breaking things. Now he wanted me to steal, too. From my girlfriend's family.

    I thought of my dad, telling me he wanted me to fly like an eagle. If he knew I was doing this, he would really be disappointed and angry with me. My mom would kill me. And I would hate myself. I never wanted to do any of this stuff. I had just let myself get sucked into it. It hadn't made my dad any better. And now it wasn't making me feel better, either. Also if I let them keep making me do these things, I really would be a dirtbag. It would never end. I would spend my whole life doing stupid things just because other stupid people told me to.

    His eyes opened wide, like he couldn't believe I just said that to him.

    SMASH! I hit them perfectly. The bottles broke into a zillion pieces. The sound was huge. Surely someone would hear it and call the cops!

    Nathan punched me in the face. "Idiot! What are you doing?" He punched me again, so hard I fell down, then jumped on me and kept punching me, cursing and smashing his big fist into my face. I rolled sideways to get away from him. He jumped on me again, pounding and pounding. I tried to kick him off. Steve and AJ grabbed him and pulled him off me.

    "Forget this loser, you're wasting time, let's get some stuff before anyone comes," AJ said. He ran to the door and picked up the crowbar. I sat up, feeling blood spurt out my nose, tasting it in my mouth. I felt dizzy.

    "Too late for you, losers!" It was Lupe. She yelled after them, "I have pictures of you!" They disappeared around the corner. Geraldo ran out of the store and raced after them. Just before they went around the corner, I saw him tackle Nathan.

    Lupe was still standing in the doorway of the store.

    I picked up my shirt and held it to my face to wipe off some of the blood.

    "I showed it to Officer Dassler this afternoon. And I got pictures of them breaking in."

    "How did you get my note?"

    "I saw you give it to Craig. I knew it was for me. I was curious. I had to know what you wrote. So I got my friend Rosa to ask Mr. Kloot a question after class, and while he was talking to her, I walked past the garbage can and grabbed it."

    Just like I always said: the smartest kid in school. I wished I could hug her. I was so relieved. I walked over to her, limping because Nathan had kicked me in the kneecap. She just looked at me, all serious. No hug.

    "I showed Officer Dassler your note today, when he came into the store. He knows you wanted to stop them. So I came here tonight to see what would happen. I waited upstairs in the store. I kept it dark so they wouldn't see me. Geraldo waited downstairs. I was the lookout. I stayed up here watching out the window. I knitted to keep myself awake in the dark, and I waited.

    "Also," she said, "I took pictures of them. But I didn't take any pictures of you at all. And Officer Dassler never saw you. So no one can prove you were ever here. You never went near the door of the store. Even if they lie and say you were doing it with them, the pictures show you weren't."

    "I don't know," she said. "I'll have to think about it. I'll have to watch you. If you really are going to be a good person again, then maybe. But it will take a while before I know for sure."

    Life is like that, my dad would have said. On TV, stories end with everything being OK. In real life, you're not always sure. But I knew that from now on, I would do everything I could to make her believe in me.

    The next day was Saturday, so there was no school, which was good. My face was a mess, and I was sore all over. My mother made me a milkshake for breakfast, because I couldn't eat regular food. My mouth hurt too much from being punched. I told her everything. About how I was scared, and mad. About all the trouble I got into with Nathan and his gang.

    "I know," I said. "I will."

    The doctor came in. Uh oh. What bad news would she bring this time?

    The doctor touched my dad's arm. "Mr. Gardner?"

    My dad woke up. "Hey, Jacob! Nice to see you!" was the first thing he said. "What happened to your face?"

    "I got in a fight," I said.

    The doctor coughed, like she didn't want to talk about that. She said, "I have some good news for all of you. Mr. Gardner, you can go home later today. We're arranging a nurse to come to your house and give you your treatment." She and my mom and dad talked some more. A lot of medical stuff, which I didn't understand. Was he still going to die? The doctor said she didn't know. Things still didn't look good. But my dad would definitely live longer than without the treatment.

    And he would be better enough to come home. We were all excited about that.

    After the doctor left, my dad asked me about my face again. "What happened?" he asked.

    I told him everything. About the gang of bullies, and my life of crime. About Lupe, and how smart she was. The smartest kid in school. She had saved me.

    "Everyone does stupid things sometimes," my dad said. "What matters is that now you know they're stupid, and you're not going to do them any more. And your mom is right. You'll have to pay for all the damage you did."

    I nodded. I felt so wrung out, like an old washcloth. Now that they both knew, I could finally relax.

    After a while, my mom motioned to me to move my chair over next to her, next to my dad's bed, and lean my head on her shoulder. I did, and she hugged me for the longest time. Not saying anything. But she didn't need to. My dad reached out from the hospital bed and put his hand on my arm.

    I was so glad he was going to come home. To fill in the empty place in our house.

    We were all quiet. That was one thing I really liked about my parents. You could be quiet with them, and it was OK.

    I took a deep breath, and finally fell asleep, right there in the hospital chair.

    We were together again.

    I didn't know how long it would last, but I promised myself I would save this memory forever.

Kelly Winters is a part-time writer and a full-time mom. She homeschools her son, who struggles with reading comprehension, so contributing a story to the first Story Share contest was important to her! She is honored to be a part of any endeavor that helps kids become more interested and able readers.