Between the Notes by Sharon Huss Roat Page B

there, but she had an interview today for a job at a newspaper. I bumped onto our gravel road just as the bus squeaked to a stop and deposited Kaya and Brady at my wheel, along with a handful of other kids from the neighborhood. A few gave Brady funny looks, but Kaya funny-looked them right back and they ran off. Kaya was Brady’s fiercest defender, and most of the time he didn’t even know it was happening. He automatically assumed everyone was nice, like he was.
    “Hey.” I panted. “How was school?”
    “Fantabulous,” said Kaya. She nudged Brady’s arm.
    “Fan-tah-lah-bus,” he tried. Kaya attempted to teach him a new word on the bus every day. She was responsible for additions to his vocabulary including “chili cheese dog,” “holy bagumba,”and “butt head,” among others.
    “Fan-tah- byu -lus,” she tried again.
    Brady didn’t respond. He was staring at his feet, then looking toward our house in the distance, and back down to his feet. His little mouth fell open as he squatted down, patting the stones with both hands.
    “Oh, no,” said Kaya. “The rocks. He wants to clean up the rocks. Like at home. The driveway. Remember?”
    He picked one up. Just one bit of gravel from an entire road made of gravel, and threw it toward the grass. It didn’t quite make it, so he went to where it had fallen and tried to figure out which one it was. He finally picked up a stone and threw it again, then squatted down for another.
    “Brady,” I said, “the rocks belong here. In the road. It’s not like home.” That was the understatement of the year. Our driveway at home was beautifully paved with an ornate brick border. Here it was just gravel that crunched when you drove on it.
    “Come on.” Kaya gently took his hand. “Let’s go.”
    He let her lead him to the side so they could walk along the edge of the grass. I followed, pushing the bike. Kaya glanced at it but said nothing, clearly too nervous about the precarious situation with Brady and the gravel. You never knew what might set him off.
    When we got to the house, I quickly wheeled the Schwinn around back and tucked it under the stairs. Brady and Kaya were standing out front. I watched from the side of the house. Sometimesit was best to just let him process things. He was staring intently at that gravel road, no doubt trying to figure out what he was going to do about it. The poor kid had spent all of last year clearing our driveway of every stray bit of stone, like it was the most important job in the world. His job. It was a huge source of pride for him, and now it was gone.
    God, I hated this place.
    As the three of us stood there, Lennie’s Jeep rumbled to a stop in front of his house. He climbed out and started walking toward his front door, glancing from Brady to the road. He took a step toward the twins, and I was about to run out to protect them if he got any closer, but he didn’t.
    “Whatcha doin’?” he called out.
    Kaya kept looking out at the road and said, “My brother is trying to figure out what to do about all those rocks.”
    “Ah,” said Lennie, nodding. “They get everywhere, don’t they?” Then he reached down, picked up a piece of gravel from his front yard, and threw it into the road.
    Brady swiveled his head to look at Lennie, who bent down to pick up two more pieces. He tossed them one at a time, underhand so they arched up high before dropping with a satisfying clatter.
    Brady watched each rock as it soared into the street. A big smile came across his face. He studied the grass around his feet, squatted, and selected one of several bits of gravel. He stood and threw it with all his might. It landed about three feet away.
    Lennie laughed. He threw another rock, then Brady threw one. Then Kaya joined in, and they all took turns. The threat of a major Brady meltdown had been avoided. I kept watching from the side of the house, not sure what to do.
    Lennie looked up and saw me, then let the rock he was holding drop