Ken Douglas - Nightwitch

“ Yes, ma’am,” Carolina said.

“ Yes, Mom,” Arty barely managed to get it out.

She pushed herself up from Arty’s bed, turned to Arty and said again, “In advance. Understand?”

“ Yes, Mom.”

Then she was out of the bedroom and the two children were alone.

“ Let’s get that jacket and deliver those papers,” Carolina said.

Thirty minutes later, Carolina was pedaling hard to keep up behind Arty. The backpack was digging into her shoulders and Sheila wouldn’t keep still, making the straps seem to bite in harder. But the air was crisp and it was a pure joy to watch Arty throw the papers.

“ Can I throw one?” she asked, when they stopped for a rest break.

“ Sure,” he said. He got off his bike, putting the kickstand down. She did the same. She watched as he took a couple of papers out of the bag. “We’re gonna do those two houses over there.” He pointed to two houses next door to each other. “They’re easy, ’cuz they both got double porches.”

He stood on the sidewalk, directly in front of the first house. “I threw underhanded when I started, ’cuz I couldn’t make it to the porch any other way.” He demonstrated by bringing his arm around with the paper coming up in an arc that went as low as his knee.

“ Then I tried overhanded, like the big league pitchers, but my arm got so sore that I had to walk the papers up to the porches for a week.”

“ So how do you do it?”

“ Sidearm, with a backhand whip, like the tennis pros.” He brought his right arm around his body, with his elbow pointing forward, and snapped it around, letting go of the paper at the exact instant his arm became straight.

“ Notice,” he said, “that I didn’t stop my arm coming around when I let go of the paper. That’s called follow through. You gotta follow through or you won’t get any distance. And you gotta point your arm to the porch, so the paper doesn’t go wild.”

He demonstrated, whipping the paper to the center of the porch, where it landed with a satisfying pop.

“ Your turn.” He handed her the paper and pointed to the next house.

She took the paper, brought her arm back and whipped it around like she’d seen Arty do, and threw the paper. She missed the porch and hit a bay window with a loud thunk.

“ Jeez, you coulda broke it. Then we’d really be in trouble.”

“ Sorry,” she said, “I’ll do better next time.”

They finished the paper route with Carolina actually making three porches, two from the sidewalk and one from her bike. They were on their way back to Arty’s to drop off the bikes when Carolina screamed.

“ What?” Arty said, turning around.

“ It’s the wolf,” she said.

“ No it’s not. It’s just dumb old Condor.”

He hopped off his bike and turned to face the charging dog, with his hands on his knees, like a football player. The happy, charging dog butted him in the chest as Arty wrapped his arms around its neck and they went rolling on the grass.

A porch light came on, curtains parted, and a door opened.

“ It’s six o’clock in the morning.” The speaker was wearing a long housecoat and brushing the hair out of her eyes.

“ Sorry Mrs. Lucus. We just finished delivering the papers and Condor scared Carolina.”

“ That dog ought to be put to sleep,” the woman said through tight lips, before closing the door and turning off her light.

“ Hey, Farty Arty,” Brad’s voice boomed through the hall, stopping Arty inches before the classroom door. He wanted to continue on toward his seat, but half the school heard that yell.

He turned around.

“ Yeah, Brad?”

“ I’m gonna kick your butt after school.” Brad was wearing a San Francisco Giant’s baseball hat turned backwards. Arty thought it made him look stupid, and he thought that tomorrow Ray and Steve would be wearing a backwards cap, too.

“ You alone?” was all Arty could think of saying.

“ What, you think I’m gonna need help?” Once again Arty regretted his flapping lips. He’d spoken up without thinking and only made Brad madder, if that was possible.

“ Just asking, that’s all,” Arty said, sounding like a tough guy from an old rebel movie. But before he could get into any more hot water with Brad, the bell rang, giving him the excuse to turn away and go into the classroom.

“ After school, punk,” Brad said.

Arty risked one more turn and saw Steve Kerr coming into the building. His cheek was bandaged and he didn’t look happy. Arty wondered if he had stitches and smiled. Then he slid in the door and took his seat.

It was going to be a long day, Arty thought, glancing over at Brad sitting in front of Carolina. Every ten minutes or so Brad would turn and fix him with a quick glare, then turn away. During recess all anyone could talk about was the big fight after school. Some of the kids gave Arty advice on how to fight, others told him to tell the principal, and some told him to try and make up with Brad. They all knew, or sensed, how scared he was and they were all glad that it wasn’t them.

It was the worst day of Arty’s life. He couldn’t concentrate on anything the substitute teacher was saying. She had pimples and talked in a steady voice that wanted to put you to sleep. Arty didn’t think she was very old to be a teacher, and he didn’t think she was even aware the whole class knew Brad was going to pound him into the ground after the final bell at three-ten. Every time he looked at the clock, it seemed like the hands had moved farther than they were supposed to. The day was racing by and he knew he wasn’t going to be getting any help. He was on his own.

The teacher asked Carolina to stay inside during the last recess, because she missed too many words on the spelling test. She wanted to go over the words with her and see if she needed any special help. Arty wished he could stay in with her, but instead he found himself on the playground, alone.

Brad was over by the tetherball watching Ray and Steve bat it around the pole. There was a line of kids waiting to play, and Brad walked to the head of the line, like it was his right. None of the kids challenged him and none of the kids came over to stand with Arty.

Arty leaned back against the building and closed his eyes. The recess bell jerked them back open and he hustled back into the classroom, before any of the other kids.

He returned to his seat and saw a folded note on his desk. Probably from Carolina, he thought, and he sat down before opening it. The second bell and the substitute started droning on in her Sleepy Hollow voice. Arty opened the note to see what she had to say.

It was from Brad.

And it read:

AT THE BASEBALL FIELD EVERYONE’S GONNA BE THERE

So, Arty thought, Brad didn’t want the fight near the school. He didn’t want to take the chance a teacher might break it up until Arty was completely wasted. He looked over at Brad and frowned. He was asleep.

But he woke up when the final bell went off.

“ A little bird told me you two lovebirds are taking karate lessons at the Rec Center,” Brad said, right outside the classroom

“ That bird shoulda told you to mind your own business,” Carolina said.

“ Think you’re gonna ever get tough enough to take me?” Brad said through tight lips.

“ Oh yeah,” Carolina smirked, “by the time this year’s over I’ll be able to wipe your sorry face all over this school, so you just might think about starting to be a little nice to me.”

“ Or what?”

“ Or you’ll find out,” Carolina said, stepping up to Brad.

“ Oh yeah?” Brad said.

“ Yeah,” Carolina said.

“ Sure.” Brad pushed her away from him. She went flying backwards, stumbled and landed on her backside.