David Fleming - The Saturday Boy

The doughnuts were boxed up separately and put into a white paper bag. I took it and as I was leaving recognized someone sitting at one of the tables. There was an open Mojo Donut box in front of her with a partly eaten doughnut inside. Raspberry filled? How had I missed that one? Her nose was in a book. As usual.

“Hey, Violet!”

“Derek! Hi! What are you doing here?”

“Getting doughnuts.”

“Are you here with someone?” she asked.

“My aunt’s exchanging some stuff and I got hungry so, y’know… you?”

“My dad’s in the photo booth,” she said. “You can sit down if you want.”

“What’s he need pictures for?” I said, sliding into the chair across from her.

“He needs a new passport.”

“Where’s he going?”

“Wales.”

“Cool. Is he going to see all of them?”

“All of what?”

“All of the whales. There’s a lot of them.”

“Not the mammals ,” she said, smiling. Her nose crinkled a little, making her freckles crash into each other. She only had one dimple. It was awesome. “The country.”

“Oh.”

Me and Violet sat there for a minute and didn’t say anything. She picked at her doughnut a little, breaking a piece off and scooting it around in the raspberry filling before eating it.

“He’s going to be gone for three months.”

“Three months? That’s easy. When my dad was gone I’d sometimes hold my breath for three months.”

“I know it’s not that long,” she said. “Plus I get to go visit over February vacation.”

“See? At least you’re allowed to visit. I woulda loved to visit my dad but no—it’s too dangerous, they said. There’s a war going on, they said.”

Violet laughed a little, then got quiet.

“I was sorry to hear about your father, Derek,” she said softly. “I meant to tell you earlier but never got a chance.”

It was my turn to get quiet. I stared at her doughnut and only then realized how much the raspberry filling looked like blood. I shrugged. Nodded. Mumbled “Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“That’s okay.”

“The funny thing is that just when you think you’re going to be sad the rest of your life you wake up one morning and you’re not sad anymore.”

“How would you know? Your dad hasn’t even left yet.”

I didn’t mean to say those words. Well, maybe I did—I just hadn’t meant for them to come out sounding so mean. Violet didn’t flinch or anything. She just sat there looking at me, making me wonder if I’d spoken out loud at all.

“My mom passed away, Derek,” she said. “That’s how I know.”

“No she didn’t.”

“Yes she did. Three years ago.”

“But she was at the play.”

“That was my stepmom.”

“Crap.”

Violet smiled. She actually smiled. It made me feel a little better. Not great—just less bad.

“What happened to your mom?”

“She got sick.”

“My dad’s helicopter was shot down.”

“I know,” she said. “It was on the news.”

“You saw that?”

“A lot of people did,” she said. “My dad read it in the paper.”

“It still doesn’t seem real.”

“It will. And it’ll hurt. But you’ll get through it. I did.”

“How?”

“It wasn’t any one thing. I mean, life just kept going. We still got mail every day. I still had homework to do. People kept playing tennis and driving their cars and walking their dogs. I couldn’t get mad at them for living their lives just because I was sad. And in a strange way that’s when I started feeling better.”

“Welcome to Dragsville, Ohio.”

“What?”

“It’s something my dad used to say.”

“Your father sounds funny.”

“He was.”

“Violet, sweetheart, who’s your friend?”

I jumped a little. I’d been so busy thinking about my father that I wasn’t aware of Violet’s until he was standing right next to me. I stood and we shook hands.

“Derek Lamb, sir. Violet and I are in the same class.”

“It’s good to meet you, Derek,” he said. “Lamb, Lamb… where have I—oh, from the play!”

“Yes sir.”

“That was a heck of a thing, wasn’t it? The punch-up there in the beginning? I’ve always said that nothing spices up a classic like a good donnybrook.”

“Huh?”

“He’s just playing with you, Derek,” said Violet. “Dad, cut it out.”

“She’s right. I’m joking,” he said. “Violet, are you ready to go?”

Violet carefully closed the lid to the Mojo Donut box. Then she put her book away in her backpack, stood up, and to my surprise gave me a hug. Her hair tickled my nose as I hugged her back. It felt different than it had in the play—like there was something more to it. I found myself not wanting it to end and I didn’t care if there was anyone from school around to see it. Even Budgie.

“See you in school, Derek,” she said.

Then she got her bag, took her father’s hand, and left the food court, not skipping but looking as though she might at any moment. She turned around once to wave good-bye. I waved back and stood there for a moment. Thinking. Then I remembered the deal I’d made with Aunt Josie so I grabbed my doughnut bag and started back to meet her.

I didn’t look at my reflection in the windows this time because I was too busy thinking about Violet and the way she’d hugged me. And the more I thought about it the surer I was that it hadn’t been just a hug. It had been an embrace. Definitely. Violet had embraced me.

My head was swimming with the smell of her hair.

Apples. Her hair smelled like apples.

Tomorrow must be Saturday.

I WOULD LIKEto thank the good folks at Grub Street in Boston for helping me get started and the lovely and talented Joanna Cardenas at Penguin for helping me to finish. I also owe an enormous debt of gratitude (and cookies) to my agent, George Nicholson, for everything in between. Much love to Luke Farrell, Sgt. Jason Macauly, and LTC Eric Frizzell. Finally, I want to thank my wife, Kara, who believes.

An imprint of Penguin Young Readers Group

Published by the Penguin Group

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First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2013

Copyright © David Fleming, 2013

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Fleming, David, date–

The Saturday boy / by David Fleming.

p. cm.

Summary: Every school day seems to bring more trouble to eleven-year-old Derek, whose former best friend bullies him, while at home he deals with the long absence of his father, a Blackhawk helicopter pilot, and his mother’s sudden moodiness.

ISBN 978-1-101-59370-7

[1. Bullies—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Behavior—Fiction. 4. Families of military personnel—Fiction. 5. Family life—Fiction.] I. Title.