The Saturday Boy

“You choose,” I said. “But it has to be cool.”

“When has it ever not been cool?”

I shook my head and closed my eyes. I could hear Aunt Josie open the box of markers and slide a few out. I wondered what colors she’d chosen.

“Why are you closing your eyes?”

“I don’t want to see it until it’s done,” I said. “I want to be surprised.”

“Suit yourself,” said Aunt Josie. “Remember our motto?”

“Sit down. Shut up. And don’t move.”

“Attaboy!”

I closed my eyes a little tighter and clenched my teeth, waiting for the first stroke of the marker. Aunt Josie had a light hand and it always, always tickled at first—especially on the inside of the arm—but after the first few minutes you got used to it. She drew in silence for a while, holding my wrist loosely in one hand. I had no idea what she was drawing—footprints, maybe? It felt like they could be footprints.

“So how are things with your lady friend?” she asked suddenly.

“What lady friend?”

“You were telling me about her the other day. She has a flower name—Rose? Lily?”

“Oh, you mean Violet.”

“That’s it,” said Aunt Josie. “And how is Violet?”

“Fine. I guess. Why?”

“You a little sweet on her, maybe?”

My face flushed and I almost opened my eyes.

“No. I don’t—I’m not… no.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. No. Wait—if I’m sweet on her does that mean I like her?”

“Yes.”

“Then no. I mean, yeah. I mean I’m not in like with her or anything. She’s nice to me.”

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re blushing.”

“I know.”

“Like crazy.”

I didn’t say anything. Instead, I tried flexing different facial muscles so I would get unblushed but I don’t think it worked because my face and my neck and the room and the rest of the world still felt hot.

“I’m just messing with you, kiddo. It’s perfectly normal if you like her,” said Aunt Josie. “But I can’t promise I won’t get jealous. And y’know what?”

“What?”

“I think we’re done here.”

“I can open my eyes?”

“Yep.”

“Drum roll, please!”

Aunt Josie beat the tabletop with her hands and I opened my eyes slowly, wanting to prolong the surprise. What had she drawn, I wondered. It’d felt like they could be cartoon explosions. Or maybe bullet holes. It was really hard to tell. Whatever it was, though, it was going to be awesome.

“Flowers?”

“Cherry blossoms,” she said. “How’s that for a little bit of awesome?”

“Flowers.”

“Cherry blossoms are badass.”

“What? How?” I said. “On what planet could that even possibly—”

“On this planet! Just hear me out,” said Aunt Josie. “The cherry blossom is a symbol of the samurai. And there’s nobody out there more badass than they are.”

She had a point.

“Because even though they were these fierce, brave warriors who could go totally berserkoid, they understood that like the cherry blossom, life was this beautifully fragile, precious thing that deserved the utmost respect. So riddle me this, Batman—what better symbol is there for a brave samurai warrior than a representation of the thing he held most dear?”

I looked at my new tattoo. Aunt Josie had drawn four blossoms—three were complete but a few petals of the fourth seemed to be floating away like they were on a breeze, and even though they had been drawn with Magic Markers, somehow Aunt Josie had made them appear delicate. I thought for a moment about how she’d said cherry blossoms were like life because they were so fragile. Then I thought about samurai warriors and how probably nobody ever teased them for liking flowers. They probably never got teased at all.

“You’re right,” I said. “Cherry blossoms are kinda badass.”

“Toldja.”

“They’re the badassiest,” I continued, figuring I should get the word out of my system while Mom wasn’t around to hear it. “They’re responsible for widespread badassery.”

“Okay, settle down,” she said. “Now what were you saying about the phone?”

“It’s broken.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is,” I said. “I’ve been calling and calling and nobody’s answering at Budgie’s house.”

“Does it go to voice mail?”

“Yep.”

“Have you left a message?”

“Fifteen.”

“What?”

“Messages. I’ve left fifteen messages.”

“First of all, you’re a butt,” she said, grabbing me and wrestling me into her lap. “And second, if it’s going to voice mail it means there’s nobody home!”

And that’s when all the tickling started.

* * *

Budgie almost missed the bus on Monday morning. Phoebe’s small, blue car pulled up just as it arrived. He didn’t look like he wanted to talk about castles, though. He didn’t look like he wanted to talk about anything. I wondered what happened but didn’t ask. Budgie stomped to the back of the bus and I sat down next to this kid named Arlo who’d eat anything for a dollar.

“Guess what I have in my pocket,” he said.

“No.”

“A shrew,” said Arlo. “I found it at the bus stop.”

“A what?”

“A shrew. You know—like a tiny mouse.”

“You found a shrew at the bus stop?”

“Yeah. I think it’s dead.”

“Why do you have a dead shrew in your pocket?”

“Because I found it.”

“Yeah, but… never mind.”

I looked down at my lap. I looked at the ceiling. I looked across the aisle out the window. I looked in every direction except Arlo’s but it didn’t matter because I could feel him staring at me.

“Got a dollar?”

“No.”

* * *

When the bus got to school I jumped up and practically ran off but it wasn’t because I couldn’t wait to get