Life unspooled from a golden thread and held the world upside down in its pleasure, because Dennis finally had a friend.
“I’ve got it,” Ralph said, one hot day in July. The Fourth had thankfully come and gone. Each boy had gotten one slice of watermelon and as many horrible hot dogs as he could eat. Dennis had eaten the rind of his watermelon, not knowing better. The cook had taken pictures of the kids, then got in trouble with the director, who said that wasn’t allowed.
Dennis was in the backyard with Ralph, who had given Dennis a rake so he could pretend to be raking the grass if anyone came. Dennishad noticed no one seemed to care when he and the custodian hung out together.
“You know how we’ve been focusing on this here hole?” Ralph asked, excitement on his face. “Well, it occurred to me that maybe it’s not the only one. Maybe there is more than one.”
Dennis’s face lit up. This idea had never occurred to him.
“You mean it has more than one way to get down there?”
“Exactly! Like two doors to a house.”
Dennis mulled this over. He could picture it.
“It could have a whole house down there, with a living room,” Ralph joked.
“A television!” Dennis shouted.
“A kitchen with all the appliances.”
“And a—a—”
“Everything a person needs.”
“A swimming pool. It’s got a swimming pool.”
None of the homes Dennis had ever lived in had had a swimming pool. Therefore, swimming pools were safe.
“What do you think it’s doing right now?” the custodian asked.
As Dennis thought about this, he forgot about the center. He forgot about the past. All that mattered now was a mysterious hole connected to an underground world no one knew about except him and Ralph.
“Do you think it has a family down there?” Dennis asked.
“Maybe. Maybe.”
There was a buzzer sound from inside. That was the school bell.
“Go. Do your schoolwork. Come back here later and we’ll figure it out.”
Dennis had two hours of school every day after lunch. The state had figured this was the minimum needed in such settings. It wastrue that most of the boys couldn’t have done more even if they’d been shackled to their chairs. They fidgeted, chewing the inside of their lips and spitting blood, or staring at the teacher with such malice that she flinched. The teachers seldom lasted, until the state decided the centers didn’t need real teachers. They could use anyone to teach the classes.
The current teacher, Ike Tressler, was a big man. He had a round head, like a giant cannonball. He was capable of looking back at the boys with such bitterness that even the big boys flinched. There were three classes at Brightwood. The first—the one Dennis was in—was for beginners; the second was for the middle schoolers; and the third was for the teenagers. The boys stayed at the center until they were eighteen, unless they were sent back home or to a new family. Somehow Dennis could never remember them leaving, though he always remembered the arrivals.
Dennis pretended to do the same math worksheet he had been staring at for months. No one at Brightwood bothered to monitor the boys’ progress, and there was no oversight. He didn’t care. He hated school.
He looked out the window, hoping Ralph wasn’t starting without him.
After school, Ralph was waiting for him, a hoe in hand.
“Figured we’d use this,” he said.
“We’re going to chop it in half?” Dennis asked, horrified.
“No.” He demonstrated. “We’ll use it to push the bushes aside. I’m afraid of poison oak. Got it once on my nether parts and couldn’t sit for a week.”
Dennis looked carefully at Ralph. He hoped the man wasn’t being inappropriate. That was the word therapists used for people who liked to touch privates. He decided the custodian was just being friendly.
