“June Bug is better,” he said. “It’s more unusual, which is better for a nomad. Why did they name you June Bug? Were you born in June?”
“No,” I said. “I was born in February.”
“I was born in October, which is the rainy season in the ninth dimension. No one even knows about the ninth dimension but Jenny and you. And Matthew of course, because he’s a ferret and all ferrets are clairvoyant. You should probably know that I have the ability to move objects with my mind. This is not unusual for nomads of the ninth dimension, but it is unusual in the world of mortals. The paranormal term for this talent is telekinesis. That’s a good five-syllable word. You could get a lot of Scrabble points if you knew how to spell it, especially if you got a triple-word score. One time when I was six months old, Jenny was having a party and when she came into the kitchen, I had three open Budweiser cans spinning above my crib. Like a mobile. It was cool. I can still do that.”
“Just with beer cans?”
Ziggy laughed. “I like you,” he said. “You’re funny.”
“Everyone in school says I’m too serious.”
“They must not know you very well,” said Ziggy.
“They don’t.”
“People at my school don’t know me very well, either,” Ziggy said.
“Why?” I asked him.
“I don’t know,” said Ziggy. “Probably because I barely ever go.”
“Are you sick a lot?”
“No,” said Ziggy. “Jenny and I just can’t deal sometimes.”
“Oh,” I said.
I looked over at him. His eyes were far away so I didn’t tell him about the winter mornings when I had to get myself ready for school while Mother lay in bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin, how I rose in the darkness to clean and dress myself, to gather my things for school, and then tiptoed downstairs to wait at the empty kitchen table for Uncle Toby to arrive with breakfast.
I didn’t tell him how in the mornings I watched the clock drip from one minute to the next like melted wax falling from a candle — 6:30, 6:45, 6:50 — until I finally heard the keys in the back door and then Uncle Toby was there, stomping the snow off his work boots and pulling my breakfast out of a paper bag. Sometimes he would reach over to rub my back or push a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I always liked that, because his hands, although they were hard and calloused, looked a lot like Daddy’s. When I was full, I would put down my fork and curl my hand inside his.
I put my hand on the branch near Ziggy’s hand.
“You look like you want something,” Ziggy said.
“I do want something, but it feels funny to ask.”
“You can ask me anything,” said Ziggy. “I won’t do it if I don’t want to.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Ziggy. “I am sure.”
“Will you hold my hand? For just a second?”
“You want me to hold your hand?”
I thought about Uncle Toby’s hands and Daddy’s hands, and I thought about how my own hand felt nestled inside theirs, warm and safe like an egg.
“Yes,” I said. “If you don’t mind.”
Ziggy thought about it.
“I don’t mind,” he said.
I put out my hand.
Ziggy took it carefully.
His fingernails were ragged, chewed almost to the quick.
We sat side by side on the branch looking at our hands and not saying anything.
Trowbridge Road stretched beneath our feet.
Someone was playing an old Beatles record. We could hear it, smoky and fragile, rising up to the branches.
There were other things we could only hear properly with our eyes closed. A baseball hitting a glove. The sound of Mr. Moniker’s crazy old dog barking at squirrels. And then farther down the road, the sounds of neighborhood kids laughing. I heard them before I could see them coming. Heather Anne was riding on the handlebars of Lucy’s pink banana-seat bike, and Buzz and John-John Crowley were swerving back and forth, trying to crash into them.
“You stop that, Buzz Crowley,” scolded Lucy when Heather Anne almost went flying.
They hollered all the way to Nana Jean’s house, where they circled around like two-wheeled vultures.
“Where is he?” asked John-John.
“He’s inside,” Buzz said.
“What do you think he’s doing in there?” asked Heather Anne from her place on the handlebars.
“Probably playing with his stinky rat,” said Lucy.
Ziggy stiffened at the word rat.
“Probably flouncing around like a fairy,” said Buzz, standing up on his pedals to get a better look at the house.
Buzz laughed. John-John looked over at his brother, and then he laughed too.
Ziggy looked at me. His eyes were sad and scared.
“Did you see his hair?” asked John-John. “Did you see how long his hair is?”
“Yeah, we saw it,” said Lucy.
“And we smelled it too,” crowed Heather Anne.
Everyone laughed until the screen door slammed and Nana Jean marched onto the porch and down the steps to tower on the sidewalk with her hands on her hips. She glared at all four children until they turned their bikes around and pedaled as hard as they could down the street, Lucy with Heather Anne on the handlebars and Buzz and John-John on their own bikes, riding away as fast as they could.
Nana Jean stayed on the sidewalk until they were out of sight. Then she sighed, wiped the palms of her hands across her dress, and rolled her silver hair back into a bun.
“Ziggy?” she called out into the neighborhood. “Lunchtime, Ziggy. Come on back inside now.”
Ziggy’s face was red. “Did you hear them?” he asked, his voice wavering. “Did you hear what they said about me?”
“Yes,” I said. “I heard what they said about you.”
Ziggy tried to drag one hand through his hair, but he couldn’t quite do it because of the snarls. He smelled his fingers and then dropped his hand down into his lap.
“Do you think my hair smells bad?” he asked. His eyes were wide.
I leaned over and breathed in though my nose. He smelled like ferret.
“No,” I said. “I like the way your hair smells.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”
“Good,” said Ziggy. “The boys at my school were always saying mean things. And I never knew if they were true or not.”
“Ziggy!” called Nana Jean again.
“I need to go,” said Ziggy, his face still red like he had been slapped. “If you come back tomorrow, I can show you how to use the psychic powers granted to you by birth as a nomad of the ninth dimension.”
“I would like that very much,” I said.
Ziggy put Matthew back on top of his head.
“Remember, June Bug,” he said. “There is always more to this world than what you can see with your eyes.”
“I believe you,” I said.
Ziggy smiled his crooked smile.
“Ziggy!” called Nana Jean again.
“I’ve got to go now.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” said Ziggy.