newspaper in his lap。 I said； “Granddad？ You wanted to
see me？”
“Have a seat； son。”
Son？ Half the time he didn't seem to know who I was； and now suddenly I was “son”？ I sat in
the chair opposite him and waited。
“Tell me about your friend Juli Baker。”
“Juli？ She's not exactly my friend … ！”
“Why is that？” he asked。 Calmly。 Like he had prior knowledge。
I started to justify it； then stopped myself and asked； “Why do you want to know？”
He opened the paper and pressed down the crease； and that's when I realized that Juli
Baker had made the front page of the Mayfield Times。
There was a huge picture of her in the tree； surrounded by a fire brigade and policemen； and
then some smaller photos I couldn't make out very
well。 “Can I see that？”
He folded it up but didn't hand it over。 “Why isn't she your friend； Bryce？”
“Because she's …” I shook my head and said； “You'd have to know Juli。”
“I'd like to。”
“What？ Why？”
“Because the girl's got an iron backbone。 Why don't you invite her over sometime？”
“An iron backbone？ Granddad； you don't understand！ That girl is a royal pain。 She's a show…
off； she's a know…it…all； and she is pushy beyond
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belief！”
“Is that so。”
“Yes！ That's absolutely so！ And she's been stalking me since the second grade！”
He frowned； then looked out the window and asked； “They've lived there that long？”
“I think they were all born there！”
He frowned some more before he looked back at me and said； “A girl like that doesn't live
next door to everyone； you know。”
“Lucky them！”
He studied me； long and hard。 I said； “What？” but he didn't flinch。 He just kept staring at me；
and I couldn't take it — I had to look away。
Keep in mind that this was the first real conversation I'd had with my grandfather。 This was
the first time he'd made the effort to talk to me about
something besides passing the salt。 And does he want to get to know me？ No！ He wants to
know about Juli！
I couldn't just stand up and leave； even though that's what I felt like doing。 Somehow I knew
if I left like that； he'd quit talking to me at all。 Even
about salt。 So I sat there feeling sort of tortured。 Was he mad at me？ How could he be mad
at me？ I hadn't done anything wrong！
When I looked up； he was sitting there holding out the newspaper to me。 “Read this；” he said。
“Without prejudice。”
I took it； and when he went back to looking out the window； I knew — I'd been dismissed。
By the time I got down to my room； I was mad。 I slammed my bedroom door and flopped
down on the bed； and after fuming about my sorry
excuse for a grandfather for a while； I shoved the newspaper in the bottom drawer of my
desk。 Like I needed to know any more about Juli Baker。
At dinner my mother asked me why I was so sulky； and she kept looking from me to my
grandfather。 Granddad didn't seem to need any salt；
which was a good thing because I might have thrown the shaker at him。
My sister and dad were all business as usual； though。 Lyta ate about two raisins out of
her carrot salad； then peeled the skin and meat off her
chicken wing and nibbled gristle off the bone； while my father filled up airspace talking about
office politics and the need for a shakedown in upper
management。
No one was listening to him — no one ever does when he gets on one of his if…I…ran…the…
circus jags — but for once Mom wasn't even pretending。
And for once she wasn't trying to convince Lyta that dinner was delicious either。 She just
kept eyeing me and Granddad； trying to pick up on why
we were miffed at each other。
Not that he had anything to be miffed at me about。 What had I done to him； anyway？ Nothing。
Nada。 But he was； I could tell。 And I pletely
avoided looking at him until about halfway through dinner； when I sneaked a peek。
He was studying me； all right。 And even though it wasn't a mean stare； or a hard stare； it was；
you know； firm。 Steady。 And it weirded me out。
What was his deal？
I didn't look at him again。 Or at my mother。 I just went back to eating and pretended to listen
to my dad。 And the first chance I got； I excused myself
and holed up in my room。
I was planning to call my friend Garrett like I usually do when I'm bent about something。 I
even punched in his number； but I don't know。 I just hung
up。And later when my mom came in； I faked like I was sleeping。 I haven't done that in years。
The whole night was weird like that。 I just wanted to be
left alone。
Juli wasn't at the bus stop the next morning。 Or Friday morning。 She was at school； but you'd
never know it if you didn't actually look。 She didn't whip
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her hand through the air trying to get the teacher to call on her or charge through the halls
getting to class。 She didn't make unsolicited ments for
the teacher's edification or challenge the kids who took cuts in the milk line。 She just sat。
Quiet。
I told myself I should be glad about it — it was like she wasn't even there； and isn't that what
I'd always wanted？ But still； I felt bad。 About her tree；
about how she hurried off to eat by herself in the library at lunch； about how her eyes were
red around the edges。 I wanted to tell her； Man； I'm sorry
about your sycamore tree； but the words never seemed to e out。
By the middle of the next week； they'd finished taking down the tree。 They cleared the lot and
even tried to pull up the stump； but that sucker would
not budge； so they wound up grinding it down into the dirt。
Juli still didn't show at the bus stop； and by the end of the week I learned from Garrett that
she was riding a bike。 He said he'd seen her on the
side of the road twice that week； putting the chain back on the derailleur of a rusty old ten…
speed。
I figured she'd be back。 It was a long ride out to Mayfield Junior High； and once she got over
the tree； she'd start riding the bus again。 I even
caught myself looking for her。 Not on the lookout； just looking。
Then one day it rained and I thought for sure she'd be up at the bus stop； but no。 Garrett said
he saw her trucking along on her bike in a bright
yellow poncho； and in math I noticed that her pants were still soaked from the knees down。
When math let out； I started to chase after her to tell her that she ought to try riding the bus
again； but I stopped myself in the nick of time。 What
was I thinking？ That Juli wouldn't take a little friendly concern and pletely misinterpret it？
Whoa now； buddy； beware！ Better to just leave well
enough alone。
After all； the last thing I needed was for Juli Baker to think I missed her。
The Sycamore Tree
I love to watch my father paint。 Or really； I love to hear him talk while he paints。 The words
always e out soft and somehow heavy when he's
brushing on the layers of a landscape。 Not sad。 We