Immortal Max Read online

Because fashion expert Bailey says first impressions are important, I shower, rub deodorant in my armpits, and dress in good clothes. Camo cargo shorts. Blue short-sleeve tee. Crew socks with a matching blue stripe around the top. I really want to make a good impression.

  What Beth said about CountryWood is what I’ve heard, too. Rich people live there. Big fancy houses. Private lake for boating. Boats with 100-hp motors. They water-ski and fish, play bocce ball and tennis. Swim in the private pool. Have laptop computers and flat-screen TVs in every room. People with money to burn.

  Not like us. Our TV is the old kind with a cathode-ray display that snows perpetually in one corner. We joke about being the only people on the planet to see blizzards in places like Death Valley and the Sahara Desert. Our computer’s the old kind, too. A big tower with monster speakers, a fat display.

  I strap on my bike helmet. Stretch a bungee cord around my scrapbook. Push off. At the end of the driveway, I meet up with Bailey. She’s on her bike, too, ponytail sticking out the back of a pink Razor sports helmet. Her bike is pointed in the opposite direction. We live about three miles from the school in one direction, three miles from CountryWood in the other.

  “Where you going?” Spotting the scrapbook, she gets all bouncy. “Oh, to see Sid and George. Let’s ride together.” The smile slides off her face. She’s noticed I’m pointed in the opposite direction.

  “Uh, I’m not going any place special.” Is that a lie? “Where are you going?” A dumb question. She’s wearing her cheerleading outfit. Green shirt, purple shorts. Pom-poms in the bike basket.

  She doesn’t answer. Her eyes are glued on the scrapbook strapped to the rear rack of my bike.

  “Hey, gotta go.” Rounding the corner toward CountryWood, I look over my shoulder. Bailey’s still sitting in the middle of the road, watching me. I wave. She doesn’t wave back. I feel like a traitor, but I don’t have time to go back and unlie.

  I pedal fast, flying past corn and soybean, oat and alfalfa fields. The countryside is a giant chessboard with barns and silos as chessmen. Oak and ash trees mingle overhead, a green umbrella. Sunshine squirms through the leaves, stippling the road. Yellow freckles on blue asphalt. Pollen floats around me, minuscule gliders riding airwaves. Blue jays and cardinals dart through tree limbs; blackbirds and doves line up on power lines.

  I put on the brake to slow down. Dark evergreens, stiff and bristly, signal that I’ve arrived at CountryWood. Planted before the houses were built, they’re monsters now. Sentries guarding the entrance. A long white PVC fence stretching along either side guards the rest. The castle wall.

  I look at my watch. Right on time. I pull into line behind trucks and vans at the gate waiting to enter. Carpet cleaners. Plumbers. Utility repairmen. Security people inside a small building interrogate drivers, talking through sliding glass panels. Long yellow gate arms raise and lower like magic, permitting entry to those who pass muster.

  The outsiders.

  To one side of the security hut is another gate. I figure out it’s a special one for cars with green stickers on the windshields. Drivers wave a plastic card over an electronic eye and the gate arm raises for them. No security guard. No interrogation. No having to pass muster.

  The insiders.

  Finally, I reach the front of the line. “Yeah, hey. I’m Sammy Smith and I have an appointment with Mr. Beaumont.”

  “It’s Chief Beaumont.” A white-haired woman wearing thick glasses scrutinizes my bike. Then me. “You from town?”

  “No—yes—I mean, I live in between. Halfway between town and here.”

  “Anyone lives outside this gate is a Townie.” She hands me a piece of orange paper, the size of an index card. A strip of Scotch tape is stuck to the top. “Put this temporary pass somewhere so it’s visible. Usually that’s on the windshield.”

  I stick the temporary pass on the handlebar post. “How’s that?”

  “Make sure you don’t lose it,” she says, eyes skeptical. “You have to turn it in when you leave.” She points a finger at a door and a sign that says SECURITY. “Can’t park your bike on the sidewalk or the grass. Leave it in the parking lot.”

  Geez, even bikes have to follow rules.

  I knock on the door that says SECURITY. A reedy voice bellows, “It’s open.”

  Chief Beaumont could be a blocker for the Green Bay Packers. He’s big. Really big. A supersized pretzel folded up in an office chair. His skin’s the color of milk chocolate. His uniform is khaki brown. A dark-green design is stitched on one pocket, the silhouette of a tree. A badge pinned to his other pocket says CHIEF. He wears a ball cap with the same stitched design above the bill.

  I get it. The design represents woods in the country. CountryWood.

  I introduce myself. He points me to a chair in front of his desk. I sit. Clutch my scrapbook. Watch as he pulls a piece of paper from a desk drawer.

  “Fill out this employment form.” He looks at my hands. “That the book Anise and Yee told me about?”

  “Yes, sir.” We exchange scrapbook and application form. I write in my name, address, and phone number, stop at the line for Social Security number. I pull my wallet out of my pocket, remove my card, and notice he’s looking at me. “Um, I haven’t learned my Social Security number yet. This is my first time to use it.”

  The bassoon voice rumbles, “Still have a hard time remembering mine.” He continues to turn pages, looking at dogs.

  In the place for references, I put down Yee’s and Anise’s names. For purpose of business, I write, To walk dogs.

  “Don’t have dogs ourselves.” Chief Beaumont closes my scrapbook. We exchange it and the employment form again. “Wife keeps two cats, though. Siamese. Independent little buggers, but smart.”

  I nod. Some of Rosie’s cats are part Siamese. Monday and Thursday, the ones Max stopped from eating Birdie.

  “Okay.” He straightens glasses that look like aviator goggles. The wraparound kind with an elastic strap that goes around your head. “Here are the rules.”

  I learn that dogs are to be kept on a leash at all times. Are not supposed to bark continuously, as this is considered a disturbance. Are not allowed on the beach or inside the pool area, as their hair clogs up drains. Most importantly, they are not to leave “their business” anywhere.

  “Carry plastic bags with you to pick up after them. You know how to do that?”

  I nod. He demonstrates anyway. Putting his hand into a plastic bag, he picks up a tennis ball, inverts the bag so the ball’s inside, knots the bag so the ball is tied at the end.

  “You see how it’s done?”

  I grin. “Not a problem. I’ve heard most of the dogs out here are little.” I point at the plastic bag in his hand. “Peanuts, not tennis balls.”

  He lets out a rumbling laugh. Har-har-har. The corners of his eyes wrinkle up like bird tracks. I decide he’s okay and relax.

  “There’s bag holders every couple blocks,” he says. ”Look like birdhouses on short posts but they’re filled with recycled plastic bags. Have to carry the bag back to the dog owner’s house, throw it away there. And you can’t walk the dogs anywhere but on the right-of-way.” He pauses, eyeing me. “You know what a right-of-way is?”

  “Yes, sir. The strip of grass on the side of the road.”

  He nods, looking over my completed form. “You don’t follow the rules, the dog owners will be given the citation.” Another piercing look through the glasses. “You know what that means?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll be fired.” I’m not feeling so relaxed anymore.

  He pulls a map out of a different drawer. Points out a lake in the middle. Streets curving around it. Squares that represent tennis courts, swimming pool, beach areas.

  “Stay on this loop when you walk the dogs, nowhere else. Leave your bike at the first house you pick up a dog… .” He draws a rough circle along certain streets and connects the circle with the line leading back to the front gate. “Pick it up when you’re done. Turn in your pass when
you leave.” He looks at me. “Got that?”

  “Yes, sir. Justin Wysocki told me outsiders aren’t welcome.” I’m glad the outlined route isn’t near the places where Justin and his friends will be hanging out. The fun places.

  “He did, huh?” Chief Beaumont lets out a deep grunt. “Okay, you’re good to go. Any problems, let me know.” He points a finger at the door.

  “Um, I need to go to the office to place an ad.”

  “Across the street and down a block.”

  Outside, I study the map to orient myself. Suddenly, my heart’s pounding like a snare drum. On the way to the office, I’ll get my first look at the mysterious land of CountryWood.

  Mysterious describes CountryWood to a T. It’s nothing like I thought it would be. The biggest mystery is why it’s called CountryWood.

  There’s no country or woods anymore. The old oak trees have vanished into thin air. It’s like an alien Transformer with front-end loaders for arms descended to Earth and ripped them from the ground. Huge belching machines are digging foundations for new homes and trenches for utility lines. Diesel smoke and fumes float like storm clouds. Light poles are nonexistent, replaced with solar lights along driveways and motion-sensor detectors next to garage doors. Lawn sprinklers work continuously, spraying water on the grass. The only green thing to be seen.

  Mom was right. Our place is prettier than this.

  Some houses are big—two stories with three-car garages—but most are average size, average looking. But all of them, fancy and plain, big and small, are the same distance from the road. Exactly the same distance. Lego blocks on steroids, lined up in perfect rows.

  I feel like I’ve entered a parallel universe.

  I look at my watch. Nine-thirty and I’m sweating. The sun beats down, a fiery orange globe in a cloudless blue sky. Turning asphalt streets to frying pans. Toasting leaves on the newly planted trees in the front yards. Electric golf carts glide along like enormous slugs, the drivers’ faces replaced with metallic sunshades or hidden under hats. I recognize kids from school, carrying beach towels or tennis rackets.

  By the time I reach the office, my clothes are waterlogged. My armpits are overflowing sewers. My lips are lizard scales. My memory, though, has sharpened.

  Aww, man. I forgot to bring water.

  I push through the office door and enter an air-conditioned room. I pause a minute in the entry, cooling off, and spot an older woman sitting behind a counter, smiling at me.

  “Samuel Smith?” she says.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Anise and Yee told me to expect you. I’m Mrs. Callahan. I do the newsletter. Did you bring your ad?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. It’s fifteen words long. Exactly.” I pull a wrinkled piece of paper and a ten-dollar bill from my pocket and watch as she reads my ad.

  “Well, now, this is very good… .” She hesitates. “But I might suggest one change.”

  Change? The ad is perfect. I worked on it for hours.

  “How about we substitute waste for poop so that the ad reads ‘Will walk dogs. Credentials. Includes picking up dog waste. Payment in cash required.’ ”

  “Waste? Sure, no problem. I’ve just heard that’s one of the requirements here. You know, picking up a dog’s waste. So I thought it was important to include it.”

  “Oh, yes. Very important.” She slips my ten-dollar bill into a cash box. “I’ll make sure this gets in the newsletter. Everyone will have it by this afternoon. We put one in every door.”

  “That’s swell. Um, I hear you might be interested in someone walking your dogs?”

  “Yes, indeed. I can’t leave the office on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday so my little dogs don’t get walked midday. Just morning and evening.”

  “I, uh, I brought my credentials in case you want to see them.” I hold up my scrapbook so she can see it.

  She hesitates. “Well, I’m working right now, so it’s not a good time. How about you come out tomorrow to meet my little ones? It’s important that they also approve of you. And who knows, maybe by then, others will have called and you can meet with them, too. Say, ten o’clock at my house?” She writes her address on a yellow sticky note and hands it to me.

  “Yeah, that sounds great.” I watch as she starts typing my words into a computer. My ad is now official.

  I walk back outside into the glaring sun and head for the security gate. From down the street, someone calls my name. Yee and Anise, still in their cheer outfits, wave me to a stop. Three little dogs sit on a porch behind them, leashes tied to the porch post. Tongues dripping.

  “Come over to my house!” Anise yells. “We need a third person so we can practice making a pyramid.”

  Anise’s house is a blue vinyl-clad split-level. Purple petunias spill out of the front flowerbed, the special kind Mom grows that bloom all summer. Her trademark. On one side of the front door is a strange-looking mask that I decide is an Igbo Mmwo. Next door is a tan vinyl-clad trilevel, a pagoda fountain in the front yard, and two cement Chinese dragons beside the front door. Yee’s house.

  I consider their offer, remember Chief Beaumont’s orders. “Can’t. Have to go straight to the gate when I’m done.”

  Yee and Anise exchange glances, untie their dogs, and dodge traffic. Sweat stains Yee’s shirt and glues her straight black bangs to her forehead. Anise’s shirt is sweat-stained, too. Her coffee-brown hair has turned to frizz.

  “Walk your bike to the gate and we’ll walk with you. I need to exercise Rooster and Rabbit, anyway.” Yee pulls two plastic bags from a box on a post and stuffs them in her pocket. Anise follows suit with one bag.

  Yee’s Pekingese wear different-colored dog halters. The one wearing red darts everywhere. I make a bet with myself that its name is Rooster. The one wearing blue walks quietly beside her. Rabbit. She’s matched the colors to the dogs’ personalities.

  “How did it go?” Anise’s toy poodle, Midnight, wears a collar studded with tiny brass bells. “Did you talk to the chief? Mrs. Callahan? Did you get the job walking her dogs?”

  I become a limp rag, shoulders and mouth drooping. Watch them go sad-eyed. Say, “Gotcha!” They punch me on the arm and beg for details.

  “It went great.” I use the back of my thumb to wipe salt crystals from the corners of my mouth. “Chief Beaumont is cool. And Mrs. Callahan said the paper will go out today—with my ad in it. I’ll be meeting her dogs tomorrow at ten o’clock. She couldn’t look at my scrapbook today ’cause she’s working. And maybe by then, other people will call, too.” My shirtsleeve becomes a rag to wipe sweat off my face.

  “Didn’t you bring water?” Yee stares at the empty bottle holder on my bike. “In this heat, you need to keep hydrated.”

  Duh.

  “Wouldn’t hurt to carry some for the dogs, too. I carry a jar lid for Midnight to drink out of.” Anise’s black poodle jingles happily.

  Now, that’s a good idea.

  Yee and Anise grow quiet, staring at me like an expectation hasn’t been met. I get it. I’m supposed to say something. But what? Girls are hard to figure out.

  “Um …” I clear my throat. “How was the first day at cheerleading camp?” I wait, hoping I guessed right.

  “Awesome—”

  “Incredible—”

  “Humongous—”

  “Inspiring!”

  I sigh with relief. Expectation met.

  They tell me about their coach and the cheers they learned.

  I listen. Nod. Remember Bailey practicing in her front yard. Alone.

  “So how come you don’t call Bailey to come out and practice making pyramids with you? I mean, she’d be perfect. She lives close, and she’s on the cheerleading team, too.”

  They exchange looks, then stare at their shoes. Adidas, grass stains on the toes. Then Yee gives me a sideways look.

  “I think we made her mad. She wouldn’t even speak to us today.”

  “Mad—” I’m burning. How can they be so blind? “She’s hurt ’caus
e you didn’t invite her to practice with you.”

  Not just them. I remember Bailey again, refusing to wave at me.

  They roll their eyes at each other, which burns me more.

  I pull to a stop and drop the kickstand. “What do you have against Bailey? Is it because she’s fat? She’s trying to lose weight, she told the whole class that on Friday. I mean, give her a break. She never says a bad word about anybody—and works her butt off trying to please people.”

  “But that’s just it. She’s always Miss Perky. It’s just …” Anise pauses, eyes flipping through an internal encyclopedia. “Not normal.”

  “That’s right. She’s in a state of denial.” Yee’s voice sounds cold. Unfeeling. “No one is happy all the time. Why can’t she just … I don’t know, be herself?”

  Yee’s been dosing on her dad’s psychology magazines again. And now she’s Junior Shrink analyzing head problems. Diagnosis? Bailey’s screwed up.

  I go beyond burning to out-of-control forest fire. “Well, she’s not that way with me! I’ve seen her plenty of times when she wasn’t Miss Perky.”

  Like this morning when I lied to her.

  “And what about you?” I look at Yee. “Always Miss Smarter Than Anyone Else. Tops at everything, even top of the pyramid.” I turn to Anise. “And all you ever talk about are amusement parks—humongous amusement parks. Did you ever think that the only ones Bailey and I have ever been to are at the county fair? Lots of the other kids, too.”

  They stare at the ground, chins on their chests. I’ve lost two more friends.

  “Well, if you were Chinese American, you’d understand.” Yee looks at me, eyes liquid. “That’s the expectation that’s put on us. Especially from our family. I just don’t want to disappoint them.” Damp bangs get pushed aside. “I don’t even know who I am either … not really.”

  Aww, man. I blew it.

  “At least you’re considered smart.” Anise faces Yee. “People are afraid of African Americans ’cause they think we’re all gangbangers.” She lowers her head, mouth drooping. “And I guess some of us are.”

  She turns to me. “I’m really tired of going to those amusement parks every summer. When I was little, it was fun. Now I just want to stay home and hang out with my friends. But I don’t want to hurt my folks like Saffron did. She, uh … she joined a gang and got pregnant, moved in with her boyfriend. He’s a real trick. Won’t let my folks see the baby.”