Džojo. Eleven and a Quarter
My name’s Džojo. The reason my parents gave me a name in Esperanto, a language almost no one in the world speaks, is because my mom and dad met through Esperanto. They bumped into each other at a summer Esperanto course, and that’s where they fell in love. They told me that from the very first date, everything was amazing between them, and they promised each other they’d never break up, so they wouldn’t lose that feeling. They said they knew that when I was born, I’d feel amazing too, so they picked this awesome name for me. It’s supposed to be spelled ĝojo, but it’s pronounced with a “j” like in “jeans.”
When your name has joy in it, problems tend to stay away. And when one does pop up, it’s hard to focus on it anyway. There’s just so much going on around you! The world’s full of interesting people, cats have magical eyes, monsters turn into “cool” girls, there’s a twelve-legged spider living in my classroom, and you can rewrite the biography of Greek myth heroes in an afternoon! There’s no time for deep thinking—this is the time for running up stairs like a sprint and painting with both hands at once. This is the perfect time to get your first kiss.
We stop right across from Billa. I’m sizing up the path we’re gonna have to drag Tatum up the hill. “I can call my parents,” I say. “They’d definitely... “No!” Tatum cuts me off. For a second, he stopped getting on my nerves, but now he’s back at it again. We’re hauling him like a couple of idiots, and he’s gonna tell us what he wants and doesn’t want! “Well, try going by yourself!” I say it out of frustration, not really meaning it, but of course, he’s gonna try it for real. He puts the tip of his busted-up foot on the sidewalk, trying to stand, but it gives way under him, and before we can grab him, he crashes, pulls the scooter down with him, and the handlebars smack him in the head. He yells, we both yell, and then all hell breaks loose. An old lady with a dog and walking sticks, who’s just crossing the street, jumps back in shock and screams. The dog breaks loose, runs towards us, and bites Oskar on the hand. Oskar swipes at it, and the dog dodges into the street right in front of an oncoming car. The car screeches to a stop, and the driver jumps out. It’s Oskar’s dad. “Good afternoon,” I say. Always gotta be polite, my grandma from Brno drilled that into me. “Beník!” the lady with the sticks yells. “F**k!” Tatum yells, and then some other choice words. He’s lying on the ground next to the scooter. “Beník!” the lady repeats, whining. “Come back!” “Hey, Dad,” says Oskar. “I’ll explain everything.” “Beník!” “I must be dreaming,” says Mr. Benda. Beník, the black cocker spaniel that ran under the wheels, is already back on the sidewalk. He runs back to his owner, whimpering, but seems fine. Tatum’s phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket, checks the screen, and answers it super slowly, like he’s trying to avoid it. “Mom?” he says. He listens for a moment, then in the calmest, almost cheerful voice, says, “It’s fine, I’m just having dinner. It’s delicious!”