Bacon Pie

by Candace Robinson

  “Dude.” I shove him a little, but as I do so, my nose throbs with pain. “Damn!”

  He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re almost there. Do you think you can walk all the way there without dying on me, Mr. Kiev Jimenez?”

  I press my nose a little, but that only intensifies the pain. “Sure.”

  “Okay.” He rubs his hands together and marches down the corridor with purpose.

  Soon, we find a group of people blocking our way.

  “Stay out of the way, ladies and gentlemen,” Cole says to them.

  They face us with raised eyebrows and wrinkled foreheads.

  Cole throws them a dismissive wave. “Dead man walking!”

  “Cole,” I say through gritted teeth.

  But with his shouting, the group breaks away, letting us pass.

  As we get closer to our destination, my heart throbs fast along with my nose.

  “Mission accomplished,” Cole says as we reach the reception area outside the principal’s office.

  The secretary behind the desk looks up from her computer. “Kiev Jimenez?”

  I nod.

  “Wait there,” she says, pointing her chin at the seating area.

  I freeze as I spot Lia sitting there wearing a new shirt—a tight one. I guess she borrowed it from a friend after I messed her other shirt up with my blood. She sets her hands on her lap and looks down. The sight of her pisses me off a bit. I shouldn’t have said what I said the way I said it, but she shouldn’t have punched me in the face. I don’t know if I should apologize or ask for an apology. So confusing.

  “You heard Miss Secretary.” Cole pushes me toward Lia. “Sit with the cause of your pain, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”

  Lia looks up and stares at Cole but stays silent.

  He bows. “Miss Ophelia Abbie, how nice it is to see you again.”

  Her stare intensifies.

  Cole points to his right. “My presence is urgently needed in the infirmary.” He salutes Lia, then me. “See you later, inmates.”

  Still frozen, I stand there, not knowing what to do. “Hey,” I say to Lia after several uncomfortable seconds.

  Lia concentrates on my face, grimacing. She lifts up a finger and points at my nose. “That doesn’t look very good.”

  I want to say that it hurts like hell. I want to ask her what caused her to punch me. Instead, I say, “Yeah.”

  The secretary walks around her desk to the principal’s office, opens the door, and waves us over. “Miss Abbie and Mr. Jimenez, the principal is waiting for you,” she says, as if dictating a life sentence.

  Lia stands and drags her feet to the door, and I follow close behind.

  The principal, Mr. Nazari, waits for us while sitting behind his desk with his hands clasped, fingers intertwined. Although his expression is serious, his lack of wrinkles, olive skin, and slick jet-black hair make him look younger—he could easily pass for a big brother or something.

  He stands and motions at the chair in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  We do as we’re told, sitting side by side.

  He walks with hands laced behind his back. “I heard you had an altercation.”

  I concentrate on the bookshelf in the back, not wanting to look at Lia or the principal.

  Heavy silence follows.

  Mr. Nazari steps back to his desk, sits on his leather chair, and straightens his polo shirt. “I know it’s difficult to talk.” He gestures at the door. “No one saw or heard anything.” He points at me. “Yet, you managed to get your nose in this state.”

  On instinct, I touch the tip of my nose.

  He stares at us, back and forth, as if that would make us confess. He settles his dark-brown eyes on Lia. “Care to share your point of view, Miss Abbie?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see her tilting down her head for a moment. She clears her throat but doesn’t say anything.

  The principal leans forward. “You were saying, Miss Abbie?”

  I turn my attention to her.

  She sighs. “He—” She glances down. “It was my fault. I couldn’t stop myself from…“

  As she pauses, my brain switches to overdrive. She wants to confess, but doing so means she’ll get expelled—or even both of us. And who knows what else.

  I cannot let that happen. “She couldn’t stop her arm from moving, sir.”

  The principal wrinkles his forehead. “Excuse me?”

  “It was an accident,” I lie.

  “An accident,” he echoes, frowning.

  “Yes.” I lean forward in my seat. “My friend Cole was sitting on Lia’s—on Miss Abbie’s chair.” And then what? “She…” C’mon, brain—think fast. “She asked him to get up and at the same time I stood. She moved her arm back as I was standing, and I accidentally collided with her elbow.” I point at my nose. “Here.”

  He intertwines his fingers again, his brows furrowing. “I see.” He faces Lia. “Is that what you were about to say, Miss Abbie?”

  She doesn’t move any face muscles, becoming a statue.

  The principal drops his shoulders. “Miss Abbie?”

  No words from her, still immobile. After an eternity-long moment, she nods once.

  Phew. For a moment, I thought she’d confess.

  Mr. Nazari releases his fingers and leans back. “So, according to you two, this was an unfortunate accident.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say.

  Lia tucks her hair behind her ear. “Yes.”

  He gives us a quick glance. “Good.”

  I relax in my chair—this is it. He’s buying it.

  The principal raises a finger. “There’s only one small problem.”

  While I wait for him to tell us what that is, my stomach and my heart drop to my feet. And my damn nose pulsates with pain. Again.

  Mr. Nazari taps his desk with his fingers, as if playing a piano sonata. “Mr. Walker told me a different story.”

  I stifle a gasp.

  Lia actually gasps.

  The principal divides a stare between Lia and me. “Mr. Walker heard a classmate say Miss Abbie punched Mr. Jimenez in the nose with her fist. Which is here.” He makes a fist and pats it with his free hand. “Not here.” He touches his elbow. “Care to explain it?”

  “Why would someone say such a lie?” As I say this, Cole’s face pops in my mind. He did say that. I want to beat the crap out of him.

  Mr. Nazari raises a brow. “Are you implying, Mr. Jimenez, that your classmate hallucinated?”

  “No, sir.” All of a sudden, my ear feels itchy. I scratch it. “People get confused all the time, sir. Ask him again?”

  The principal smiles. “How’d you know it was a he? I never said it.”

  I shrug. “I didn’t want to be sexist.”

  His smile drops. “We asked this person again, and he changed his story. This time, he said that it happened so fast, he didn’t quite see it.”

  At this, I feel as if a concrete slab was lifted from my chest. But I still want to punch Cole.

  “Mr. Nazari?” Lia shoots a hand in the air, asking for permission to speak.

  “Yes, Miss Abbie?”

  “Can we head back to class? I don’t want to fall behind.” She glances over her shoulder at the door.

  “Look, I get it.” The principal takes a deep breath. “I was in high school not long ago.” He motions at the two of us. “These things happen.” He shakes his head. “But, sorry to say, they cannot go unpunished.”

  “But it was an accident,” I blurt.

  Lia stays quiet.

  Mr. Nazari rubs his forehead. “I’m sorry, but you leave me no other option.”

  For a second, my brain cells bounce inside my skull with dramatic thoughts: We’re going to be forced to scrub toilets. We’re going to clean the streets. We’re going to get crucified.

  “What kind of punishment?” Lia frowns and puts her elbows on the desk, as if saying, “Bring it on.”

  Mr. Nazari motions for her to scoot bac
k.

  She leans back and crosses her arms.

  “So, what’s our punishment?” I grip the chair’s armrests with both hands, as if bracing for impact.

  The principal intertwines his fingers. “Community service at the Piggie Palooza festival.”

  Lia wrinkles her nose in disgust.

  “Er, come again?” I point at my ears. “I think I heard wrong.” I really do—this festival isn’t related to school. Besides, this bacon tribute fair is for little kids and their parents. Or for senior citizens who don’t have anything else better to do. Definitely not for guys with injured noses, or short-tempered girls.

  “You did hear right.” The principal grins. “The city needs volunteers.” He grabs his phone sitting on his desk and checks it. “Starting this Sunday and all the way until Wednesday, you’ll help this great city with the Piggie Palooza festival.”

  No, no, no! I face Lia, who’s red as a hot pepper, to match her anger-punching-issues.

  I want to say to her that four days at the festival is better than detention. But I’m not kidding anyone, helping at Piggie Palooza is worse than that—much worse.

  Chapter Ten

  Lia + Ophelia

  I hate this principal. I didn’t before, but I do now. Did Mr. Nazari really say we have to both volunteer at the Piggy Palooza Festival—that crap event I have been trying to avoid?

  Slowly, I let the anger seep back down before I go all Hulk style again, but this time on the principal. I don’t want to end up in jail today.

  “We agree,” Kiev says in answer to Mr. Nazari’s punishment.

  I want to say we didn’t agree to anything, Kiev, but I nod my head, trying to avoid Kiev’s face. The guilt is already seeping in from striking him.

  Mr. Nazari taps the end of his pointy nose, like he’s just become a millionaire. “This means we have all the volunteers we need—it’s actually a win-win.” His eyes narrow on the both of us. “And”—he holds up a finger like it’s his personal wand—“if you two don’t show up, you’ll both be suspended for three days and afterschool detention for a month.”

  I kind of think I’d like to go with the second choice, but my mom would be livid.

  “We’ll be there,” Kiev answers. Again, he’s answering with the “we” stuff, and he needs to stop. We’re not running for an election here.

  “Good. I’ll make sure of it, and you’re going to need your parents to sign these slips and return them.” Mr. Nazari fills out two short forms and hands them to us, and explains where we need to check in when we get to the festival each day. With one swift hand motion, he dismisses us back to class.

  Looking up at the large circular clock above his head, I see we only have a few minutes left before the bell rings. There’s really no point to head back to class now. I lift my backpack over my shoulders, shuffle past Kiev, and head out the door.

  His shoes make a soft squeak behind me, so I whip around to face him. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t … what’s in your nose?” I tilt my head to the side and see two white plugs that look incredibly similar to female products. “Did you stuff tampons in your nose?”

  Kiev rolls his eyes at the ceiling and runs a hand through his thick, light-brown hair. “Yes, Lia, I stuffed tampons in my nose, so the bleeding would stop. Remember the blood?”

  Laughing, I say, “What? You really put tampons in your nose?”

  Shaking his head, he whisper-shouts, “No, that was called sarcasm, and I didn’t put tampons in my nose. The nurse did. Well, not actual tampons, but nose plugs.”

  “Whatever you say, Kiev.” I shrug.

  “Whatever, Lia. You got us into this whole mess, and now we have to work at this stupid festival. I do have better things to do, you know?”

  “What? Like hang out with your pervy friend who you shouldn’t have let sit in my seat to begin with?”

  He lets out a long sigh. “He was there before class had even started.”

  “So? It’s still my seat. And no, this is all your fault.” Really, it’s mostly my fault since I did punch him, but he still started it.

  A grin spreads across his face, and I want to smack it away. I slide my hands into my pockets just in case I decide to go hostile again.

  His eyes slide down to my blue shirt. And, is he looking at my boobs? No, that would be Cole who’s the pervy one. Or who knows? They probably both are. I tug at the edge of the fabric just thinking about it. “I’m glad you found another shirt,” he murmurs softly. Oh, right, that’s why he’s looking at my shirt.

  “Yeah.” The shirt feels really tight, but other than that it works.

  Nodding, he asks, “Seriously, why did you hit me, though?”

  Why did I hit him? “Oh, because you said Kiev was the capital of Russia all douchebag like.”

  “You mean Ukraine,” he points out with a small smile.

  “Damn it, Kiev.” I don’t get as fired up as last time, but I’m still annoyed. Before he responds, the bell rings. “I gotta go.”

  He gives me an unreadable expression, and I whirl away before things get even more awkward.

  When I turn down the hall, I find Sophie at her locker, her curly hair bouncing as she maneuvers through her backpack. I pull her locker the rest of the way open, and my attention flies to the photo taped on the inside of the metal door.

  “You have a picture of Brandon Lee from The Crow?” I can’t believe she even knows what that movie is. It’s a cute picture, too—he’s all in tight black, bird on shoulder—nice.

  Sophie’s doll eyes open and seem to explode with glitter with the glee that crosses her face. “I love that movie. He was ultimate perfection. Such a shame.” Okay, she just got a hundred times cooler in my book. “You know who he reminds me of?”

  I close my eyes and think about it for a moment. “Bruce Lee?” Since he was Brandon’s dad.

  Sophie’s hands come together in prayer form. “Barnabas.” Okay, she just killed the cool points.

  “Is that why you have such a huge crush on him?” I don’t think Barnabas dresses anywhere near as good as Brandon Lee did in The Crow. I mean, he shops at freaking Hot Topic—thankfully, he isn’t wearing those pants today.

  “It’s one of the reasons!” Well, at least she has a semi-good reason for her infatuation.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for letting me borrow the shirt. I’ll bring it back to you tomorrow.”

  Earlier, I was sitting inside the school office waiting for Kiev after the punching incident, and Sophie bounced into the room to turn something in for her teacher. When she whipped around to see the bloody handprint on my t-shirt, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Is that paint?” Before I could twist out of the way, she dodged forward and sniffed my shirt like a hound. “That’s blood,” she stated, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

  “Yeah,” was all I had said. She then darted out of the office and flew back in with a tight blue shirt that was a size too small, but it fit well enough when I changed into it.

  Now, Sophie waves a hand in the air. “No problem! If you ever need anything else, just come to my locker.”

  I peer inside to see one book sitting on the top shelf, and the rest of her locker is filled with clothing, makeup, and … a Slinky?

  “Why do you have that?” I reach in and pull the silver Slinky halfway up and then let it crinkle back down.

  “A stress reliever of course.” She gets stressed? I wouldn’t have guessed that with her bubbly attitude.

  “Okay, well I’ve got to get to class.” The clock on the wall shows I have two minutes left, and I don’t want to get in any more trouble today.

  “See you in third period.” She waves goodbye.

  I nod at her because maybe Sophie isn’t so bad.

  Classes pass by quickly, and I head to lunch. Sophie sits with me and Barnabas again, while I relay the incident in full of what happened before first period. Since she’s volunteering at the festival already, Sophie’s excited about m
e having to do the Piggy Palooza stint. Barnabas just laughs while I glower at him.

  The rest of the day, I manage to not run into Kiev or his crony, Cole.

  Barnabas is waiting for me at the end of the hallway to head out from school, wearing tighter black jeans today that seem to match a little closer to Sophie’s Crow picture in her locker—now that I think about it.

  “I just saw your best friend.” Barnabas gives me a side smile.

  My eyebrows lower. “He’s standing right here.”

  “Nah, your new best friend, Kiev.”

  I give him a playful shove and scrunch up my face. “Knock it off.”

  “His nose still looks pretty bad. I gave him my condolences, and he said to make sure I keep my beast tamed.” He throws his hand up and whips at the air.

  “What?” I hiss.

  Barnabas shakes my arm. “Kidding. He said he was fine.”

  I still can’t believe I punched someone in the face. I mean, seriously, with my actual fist. Even when I’m mad at people, I usually do the trash-talking in my head instead of out loud. At least that is courteous.

  My phone beeps, and I pull it out of my backpack to check it.

  Mom: Home. Now.

  “Uh oh,” Barnabas whispers as he gazes over my shoulder at the text. “Mommy must have gotten contacted instead of the Daddies.”

  I was planning on just having Dad sign the form, because he wouldn’t have been mad or at least as mad.

  When we get home from school, I tell Barnabas I’ll text him later and walk to my apartment, practically hearing dun, dun, dun. I’m not sure where the stupid song originated from, but it’s annoying.

  Before I reach the last step, Mom swings open the door. “Ophelia Jeanette, you get your butt in here this instant.”

  I roll my eyes. “Mom, I was already about to walk in the door.”

  “How do I know that? Since you have this new breaking-the-law complex going on,” she screeches, her green eyes blazing.

  “Mom, can we calm down until I get inside?” It’s embarrassing. I’m sure Barnabas can see it from his apartment with a pair of binoculars in hand, while eating awesome Cambodian food from Mrs. Lao that I should be eating right now.