Unfortunately, I had no ending to this speech, so I just stopped talking—right in the middle like that.
Everyone continued to stare at me.
I stared back.
Ben Gibbons’s father looked so intense that I thought he might pitch forward off his seat and fall. I finally asked, “Does anyone else want to speak?”
Mikeszabo hopped right up. He addressed the audience from the back row. “I do! I had this idea. I was thinking that we could bring winter clothes next week. But now I’m thinking that next week might be too late. Some people here might freeze to death before next week. So I’d like to come back tomorrow with a bunch of coats and sweaters and blankets. If the church is locked, maybe Mr. Weaver would let me hand them out from his truck.”
Mr. Weaver assured him, “It won’t be locked. I’ll see to that. We can distribute the clothes from here in the basement.”
Mikeszabo unzipped his lined windbreaker and pulled it off. “For now, who needs a coat? I don’t really get cold. Let me give this to somebody.”
None of the zombies moved, so Mike draped his coat over a woman in front of him. It hung down over her frail shoulders.
Arthur pulled off his black hoodie. “I know what you mean, bro. I don’t get cold, either. Never. Not Arthur Stokes. Somebody else can use this.”
Other Haven kids stood up.
Soon a dozen more had pulled off jackets and hoodies and sweatshirts and had pressed them into the hands of the zombies.
I took off my own down coat and placed it in the lap of a man in the front row. His hands clutched it, but otherwise he didn’t move.
Mom was now crying her eyes out. She spoke up. “We’ll bring more food back tomorrow, too. The Food Giant throws food out every day. We should bring it here.”
I spoke directly to the zombies. “So, there will be food and clothing here tomorrow night. Tell anyone who needs those things to come here.” I looked over at Mom. “Okay, so, I guess we’re ready to eat.”
Several of the zombies were unable to deal with a food line, so group members shuttled food and drink to them in their chairs. In one case, Jenny actually fed a shaky, toothless lady. I don’t think any of the Haven kids ate or drank, but soon all the food was gone. The zombies got up shortly after that and walked back out. Those who could talk said thank you.
Ben Gibbons’s dad came up to me. I expected him to sound gruff, but he was soft-spoken, humble even, when he said, “Thank you for doing this.” Then he hurried out so fast that Ben had to run to catch up to him.
We never did form our Catherine Lyle discussion groups. Everyone got involved in breaking the room back down—returning the chairs and tables to their storage spots. Mom, Mrs. Weaver, and Jenny did some cleaning up in a small kitchen off the refrigerator area.
I grabbed the Food Giant bin and lugged it back outside. I popped open the trunk of Mom’s car, slid it in there, and turned around with a start.
Jenny was standing in front of me, very close. She said, “That was a great speech, Tom. Really moving.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re a good speaker. I really wish you were in the play.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Then she just stood there, and so did I. Though neither of us had on a coat, and it was freezing.
I decided to seize that moment. I blurted out, “I was thinking of you on the drive here tonight.”
She cocked her head, still dangerously close. “Oh yeah?”
“I had a vision, I guess you’d call it, of a great thing that I wanted to do.”
“The speech?”
“No. The speech just kind of happened. This was something private. Personal.” I looked up at the moon. “I saw myself with a beautiful girl, and that girl was you.”
She blinked once. I could see her trying to process my words. She looked surprised, but not totally so. And, more importantly, she did not move away. She did not slap my face; she did not knee me in the groin.
If anything, she tilted her face slightly upward.
So I did it. I kissed Jenny Weaver, and I kept kissing her for a long time, in that cold parking lot under the full moon.
And it was beautiful.
Coach Malloy began class today by addressing his growing problem, the Haven Family Preserves scandal. He said, “Okay. I talked to Reg about your complaints. He explained some things to me, and I think those things fit in pretty good with our social studies curriculum.”
He consulted an index card. “One thing is… the small farms we used to have in Pennsylvania just don’t exist anymore. They’ve been taken over by big agribusinesses that kick the small farmers out and dump pesticides in the water and exhaust the soil. It used to be, you would buy your strawberries right here in town, on the side of the road, from the local farmers. I can remember those days.
“Now you got to buy your strawberries at the Food Giant or Kroger, and those strawberries probably come all the way from Mexico.
“Well, I don’t need to tell you, they don’t have our standards of cleanliness down in Mexico, so the strawberries Reg bought probably had”—he checked his index card again—“E. coli or some other bacteria on them that would not come off during the normal rinsing process. Reg said not to worry, though. He has a special double- rinsing process for next year that will take care of all these Mexican bacterias and make Haven Family Preserves an even better holiday gift choice.”
The coach looked around hopefully.
I looked around, too. If Coach saw what I saw, he realized that it was all over. Haven Family Preserves would not be having a next year.
A kid named Joey Sanchez raised his hand. “My aunt lives in Mexico City. She sends us food all the time, and we don’t get sick eating it.” He pointed to a mason jar on the desk. “Not like that stuff.”
Coach squirmed. “Well, I’m just telling you what Reg told me. And I’m trying to tie it in to the social studies curriculum for Haven County. I can’t speak for everybody’s aunt that ever sent anybody anything. I can only speak for myself.”
After that, Coach retreated to his chair. We read a chapter about the interstate highway system and answered questions about it for the rest of the period.
As Arthur and I approached Mr. Proctor’s room, we could see Jenny ahead. She was practically hopping up and down, just bursting to tell us something. When we got within whispering distance, she began, “Are you guys ready for today’s news?”
I whispered back, “Yeah. What’s going on?”
“Dr. Lyle came in the office to withdraw Wendy.”
That got Arthur’s attention. “What? The Grape’s leaving?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“She’s done with classes as of
“Is she still in the play?”
“She is. She asked if she could be, and Mrs. Cantwell said yes.”
Arthur looked relieved to hear it.
Jenny continued: “But before Dr. Lyle left, he asked to speak to Officer O’Dell.”
Arthur asked, “Who’s that again?”
