Crenshaw

by Katherine Applegate

His eyes were the sparkly color of morning grass.

After I was born, they stopped being musicians and became normal people.

Dad says his uncle was a charming curmudgeon, which I think means grumpy with some niceness thrown in.

Honestly, another middle name might have been better. A brand-new one. One that wasn’t already used up. Maybe that’s why I liked the name Crenshaw. It felt like a blank piece of paper before you draw on it. It was an anything-is-possible kind of name.

I remember when my little sister first came home. But I don’t remember trying to put her in a box so we could mail her back to the hospital.

When I try to remember my whole entire life, it feels like a Lego project where you’re missing some of the important pieces, like a robot mini-figure or a monster-truck wheel. You do the best you can to put things together, but you know it’s not quite like the picture on the box.

Robin asked what is a keepsake. My mom said it’s an object you treasure. Then she said things don’t really matter, as long as we have each other.

Looking at my family, all there together, I felt like a relative from out of town. Like I belonged to them, but not as much as they belonged to each other.

“I would put Krispy Kreme doughnuts in the magic category,” said my dad.

Her voice was low and slow. It was the voice she used when a fight was coming. My chest tightened. The air felt thick. “There’s everything wrong with asking for help,” my dad snapped. “It means we’ve failed.” His voice had changed, too. It was sharp and hard. “We have not failed. We are doing the best we can.” My mom gave a frustrated groan. “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans, Tom.”

Crenshaw seemed even bigger up close. His white stomach rose from the bubbles like a snowy island. His enormous tail draped over the side of the tub.

He had thick whiskers that poked out from his face like uncooked spaghetti.

He was holding one of Robin’s rubber duckies. He looked at the duck carefully, then rubbed his forehead on it. Cats have scent glands by their ears, and when they rub on something, it’s like writing, in big letters, THIS IS MINE.

Crenshaw made himself a beard out of bubbles.

Once she was inside, Aretha stood perfectly still on the bath rug, except for her tail. That was fluttering like a windy-day flag.

His tongue was covered with little prickers, like pink Velcro.

“Humans laugh with their mouths, dogs with their tails.

Crenshaw chewed on one of his nails. It was pale and pink, sharp as a new moon sliver.

he settled into a doughnut shape, tail wrapped around himself, and closed his eyes. He purred the way my dad snores, like a motorboat with engine problems. I stared at him, a huge, damp, bubble bath–taking cat.

“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here, Jackson,” he said. “Imaginary friends don’t come of their own volition. We are invited. We stay as long as we’re needed. And then, and only then, do we leave.”

I could see he was in full predator mode. His eyes turned to dark pools. His rear wiggled. His tail twitched.

The frog twitched, and Crenshaw froze, pure muscle and instinct.

“You can be mad at someone and still love them with all your heart.”

At least I was going back to school. A place where facts mattered and things made sense.

knew he was there and that was enough. Sometimes that’s all you really need from a friend.

Maybe I wasn’t so old after all. In any case, Crenshaw had excellent timing. He came into my life just when I needed him to. It was a good time to have a friend, even if he was imaginary.

Of course I wasn’t a lion. I was a person who knew right from wrong. And stealing was wrong. But here’s the truth. I felt crummy about the stealing. But I felt even worse about the lying. If you like facts the way I do, try lying sometime. It’ll surprise you how hard it is to do.

We chatted about bats while we watched Aretha dig another hole. Finally I said, “Well. Gotta go.” I hooked Aretha to her leash. She licked my cheek with a sand-covered tongue. It felt like a cat’s.

I had a roof over my head. I had food most of the time. I had clothes and blankets and a dog and a family. Still, I felt twisted inside. Like I’d swallowed a knotted-up rope. It wasn’t about losing my stuff. Well, okay. Maybe that was a little part of it. It wasn’t about feeling different from other kids. Well, okay. Maybe that was part of it too. What bothered me most, though, was that I couldn’t fix anything. I couldn’t control anything. It was like driving a bumper car without a steering wheel. I kept getting slammed, and I just had to sit there and hold on tight.

Aretha, who likes to share my pillow when she can get away with it, was drooling onto the pillowcase.

Her feet were dream-twitching. I wondered if she was dreaming about Crenshaw. She’d certainly seemed to like him.

“Are you my conscience?” I asked. “That depends. Would you like me to be?”

“I think you see where this is going.” Another yawn. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking a little catnap.” I stared at him. He’d made me feel mystified and annoyed and more than a little crazy. And now he was making me feel guilty. One way or another, I had to get him out of my life.

“You can’t sell that!” she cried. “It’s named after Jackson!” “Actually,” I said, “I was named after the guitar.” “It doesn’t matter!” Robin’s eyes welled with tears. “That’s a keepsake for keeping. Here. You can have my trash can for free, mister. Instead.”

Robin’s eyes bored into me. “You told me it would be okay, Jacks,” she said. “You lied.” “I didn’t lie,” I lied.

I wasn’t lying, exactly. It was more that I left out certain facts and focused on others. I didn’t want to do it, of course. I liked facts. And so did Marisol. But sometimes facts were just too hard to share.

Why do you have to understand everything, Jackson? I like not knowing everything. It makes things more interesting.”

“But you took the magic away, Jackson. I liked thinking that little gray bunny appeared in a man’s hat. I liked believing it was magic.” “But it wasn’t. He had a hole in the hat, and—” Marisol covered her ears. “I didn’t care!” she cried, punching me again. “And I still don’t care!” “Ow,” I said. “Again.” “Jackson,” Marisol said, “just enjoy the magic while you can, okay?”

“Fun fact, Jackson. You can’t see sound waves, but you can hear music.”

It felt good, talking as the night took over. It almost made me forget that we were leaving the next day. It almost made me stop feeling the anger and sadness weighing me down like invisible anchors.

“How do you know that?” Crenshaw glanced at me. “I know everything you know. That’s how imaginary friends operate.”

Crenshaw slapped at a moth with his other front paw. The moth fluttered over his head like it was laughing at him. “I hate moths,” he said. “They’re butterfly poseurs.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Butterfly wannabes.” “If you know everything I know, how come you know words I don’t know?” “It’s been three years, Jackson. A cat can do a lot of learning in that time. I read the dictionary four times last month.”

“Jackson?” she said. “You okay?” “Yep.” “I thought I heard you talking to somebody.” I cast a look at Crenshaw. “Just talking to myself. You know.” My mom smiled. “An excellent conversational partner.”

“Cats do not play,” Crenshaw told her. “We do not frolic. We do not gambol. We nap, we kill, and we eat.”

“Dogs do that because—” “I know why. Because they’re idiots. I also know you will never, ever catch this fine feline

Where are you, Crenshaw, when you’re not with me?” “You’ve seen a teachers’ lounge, right?” “I’ve peeked. We’re not allowed in. Mostly I saw a lot of coffee cups and Mr. Destephano napping on a couch.” “Picture a giant teachers’ lounge. Lots of people waiting and snoozing and telling stories about exasperating, amazing children. That’s where I stay. That’s where I wait, just in case you need me.” “That’s all you do?” “That’s plenty. Imaginary friends are like books. We’re created, we’re enjoyed, we’re dog-eared and creased, and then we’re tucked away until we’re needed again.”

A good cat fact to know is that they only expose their tummies when they feel safe. His purr filled the air like a lawn mower.

A question kept nagging at me: Why did things have to be this way? Life isn’t always fair, Crenshaw had said.

Scientists love to disagree about things.

“Bad dream?” he asked. “I don’t remember it, really. I was in a cave, I think, and I was yelling for someone to help me, and nobody would listen.” “I’ll help,” said Crenshaw. “I’ll listen.”