It's a Little Haywire

It's a Little Haywire

Middle Grade, ages 8-12
With illustrations and hyperlinks to Charlie True's golden oldie playlist

Owen True is eleven and eleven twelfths and has been “exiled” to the small crazy town of Hayward, WA, aka, Haywire, while his mother is on her honeymoon. All he has to whittle away the time is the company of Gramps, his black lab Daisy, and his Haywire friends, Mason and Mikala Sweet. They don’t look so hot this year, in fact, the whole town has gone to pot since the mill shut down.

Owen has his first encounter with a real life homeless man who ends up needing Owen’s help in more ways than one. But how does a rich city kid help the small town’s suffering citizens?

And what is Owen to make of the fog train and its scary, otherworldy occupants that appears out of thin air on the old tracks behind Gramps’ house? Do they have the answer Owen is looking for?

CHAPTER ONE

Owen True – The Exiled

I’VE BEEN EXILED UNJUSTLY. My deserted island is a small forgotten town called Hayward, WA, smack in the middle of nowhere in the dry desert valley with the crazy name of Okanogan. It is crazy here, so crazy, I call the place Haywire.

Not only am I exiled, but I’m imprisoned. My “prison cell” is a two story wooden house with peeling paint and a creaky screen door. This is to alert my “prison guard,” aka Gramps, of my comings and goings.

“Owen,” Gramps calls out from the kitchen, even though I’d pushed the screen door open as quietly as I could.

“Yeah, Gramps?” Gramps is in pretty good shape for an old guy, probably from all the work he does outside in his garden.

“Where y’off to?”

“Oh, just to look around. See if anything’s changed here since last summer.” I scoff in my head. As if anything ever changes in Haywire. Same ol’ sleepy town. “I might go see what Mason and Mikki Sweet are doing.” I let the screen door swing shut behind me.

“Be home by supper.”

Sure thing, prison guard.

I stuff my fists in the pockets of my blue jeans. They’re new, never been washed kind of stiff, from the collection of name brand clothes my mom bought me outta guilt. As if nice clothes could pay me off for what she did. Traitor.

Dad dropped me off this morning, only stayed for a coffee, before I watched the red tail lights of his silver BMW make dust down Maple Ave. Got dumped by my own dad. Can my life get more pathetic? Yeah, it can. I forgot my bag of electronics! My iPod and gamer—I can see the plastic Ralphs bag with my stuff in it in my mind, sitting on the bench by the front door. This month is set to be the worst time of my life.

And man, it’s hot. I forgot about the mid-summer heat in Haywire, dry hot with a wind going on like a gigantic hair dryer God forgot to shut off. Nothing like the humid stuff we get in Seattle. The grass on the hills is burnt out to almost white. Green pine trees here and there are scraggly like old toilet brushes. A tumble weed skittles by. An actual tumble weed! Am I stuck in an old western movie, or something? If so, it’s the boringest movie ev-er.

The Sweets’ house is on the other end of the same street as Gramps’. It only takes two minutes to get there, but somehow I turn it into ten. It’s not like I don’t want to see them, it’s just, every summer it’s the same awkward warm up after not seeing each other for eleven months. We don’t keep in touch during the rest of the year. We’re not that type of friends.

I tug on the collar of my T-shirt where a sweat line is forming, wishing I’d changed into a pair of shorts. I stop to scratch a new bug bite just as I get to the front yard of the Sweet house.

Their house looks even more worn out than Gramps’. Not only is the paint peeling worse than last year, but the shutters on the front window are hanging all wonky. The yard has toys and trash scattered about and it looks like the lawn hasn’t been mowed in this century. Not that the Sweets were ever your super tidy folks, but I can’t remember it being this bad.

Something moves in the window and I look up in time to see a head bob down out of sight. Is it Mikki? I almost call out, but then I don’t. If Mikki wants to talk to me she’ll just come out and do it. I decide to keep walking, taking a right at the corner and into town.

Haywire isn’t exactly your tourist trap. I don’t think most people know it exists, which is why it makes such a good exile destination. My mom and her new husband chose well.

I pass the gas station and the drugstore, the laundromat and the grocery store. Yup, exciting stuff. I wish I’d thought to bring my wallet. Then I’d buy a Coke or something. This heat is making my throat dry up like an old bun.

I decide to give the Sweets one more chance and head back the way I came. But before I get off Main Street, my eyes catch movement in a dark ally. A big cardboard box is pressed up against the wall. Why don’t people clean anything up around here?

Then a body pops out of it and I skip sideways, my heart making a quick trip into my throat and back. It’s a man with long greasy hair tied back in a pony tail. His clothes are creased and grubby and he rubs the stubble on his face with his hand.

I shrink down behind a parked car so the guy in the box doesn’t see me staring. I’ve heard of homeless people before, but I’ve never seen one this close up. The man tosses a couple empty cans into a bag and shuffles, shoulders drooping like they’re too heavy for his body, around the corner and out of sight.

My feet take flight. I run several blocks toward the Sweets’ house and when I round the corner, they are there, Mikki and Mason, sitting on the front cement steps.

I’m out of breath and I flop my head down, hands resting on my knees, feeling stupid. Why didn’t I stop to catch my breath before I rounded the corner looking like a feeble dweeb?

Mikki and Mason don’t say a word, just stare at me, eyes narrow and searching.

“Hi, Mikki. Hi, Mason,” I say once I can breathe again like a normal human being.

“Well, if it ain’t Owen True.” Mikki’s voice is stretched and thin, like she’s forcing herself to be friendly.

Mason’s lips turn up in a smirk. “Nice hair-do.” My hand automatically brushes across the top of my head. My Mom made me get it cut short for the wedding. Mason snorts then gets up and goes inside. Two little girls come out at the same time, skipping down the steps.

“Oh crickets,” Mikki says. “Opal and Ruby, you two need to clean up this mess. What do you think this is? A pig pen?” I’m glad she hadn’t asked me. I’d have to lie.

Mikki stands up as if to supervise. She props her hands on her waist and her pointy elbows stick out on either side. The triangular spaces remind me of space shuttle wings. I bet she’d like to just fly off if she could. Get outta Haywire. I feel a little sorry for her then. Even though I’m stuck here for the whole of August, at least I get to leave when it’s over.

I can’t tell what color her sundress started out as, but it seems to me to be a size too small. Her freckles, sprinkled like a net across her nose have darkened in the sun like they do every summer. Her long brown hair is pulled up in a high pony tail and, I’m no hairdresser, but it doesn’t look like she used a brush to do it. She’s a bit taller than me now, and this new awareness makes something in my gut twist. I stoop down to pick up a smooth stone and whiz it over the nearby hedge.

“By the way, Owen True,” Mikki starts. She always calls me by both my names like they’re one word—Owentrue. “I go by Mikala now.”

Mikala? Since when? I've called her Mikki my whole life.

"Why the switch?"

"Cause that's my name." She flicks a strand of loose hair away from her eyes.  

"And besides, Mikki doesn't suit me anymore. I'm much too mature for that." She’s only four months older than me but that does make her twelve.

"Okay, I'll try to remember."

We pretend to look around when we both know we’re watching each other. I’m trying to figure out what to do with the dead space. That’s what Dad calls the awkward silence when people don’t know what to say to each other next. He and mom had a lot of dead space going on before he moved out and across the city.

"So what's new?" I finally say. She gives me an as-if-you-don't-know look. Her knuckles whiten like they’re permanently attached to her hips.

"Not much. Dad's never home, he's practically moved into the pub since the mill closed down. Mom works day and night at the cafe to keep things going, and I'm left to care for the twins." She flashes me a smug grin. "What's new with you?"

What can I say? It doesn't seem right to talk about my fancy city condo, or the expensive private school I’m forced to go to. I’m self-conscious of my new clothes still with the factory press lines in them, probably because Mikki—oh, excuse me, Mikala, is aiming her laser beams at my shirt. I wish I’d at least worn it inside out or something.

I almost tell her about my mom getting married to Arthur, aka Ar-throw-up, but Mikala might think I’m a whiner.

I stuff my hands in my pockets, my tongue tied like a knotted shoe lace. Mikala doesn’t wait around to entertain me. Before I know it, I’m alone again in her front yard.

I head back to Gramps’ house all sweaty and sticky on the inside and out. I kick the gravel, scuffing my bright white sneaker. I kick again with the other foot, scuffing that sneaker to match. I blow a loud huff through my nose.

I am wrong about one thing, I decide. Things have changed in Haywire.