Bacon Pie

by Candace Robinson

  “What?” Barnabas asks. “That’s messed up, but there’s no originality anymore. It’s remake after remake.”

  “What’s The Crow?” Kiev asks. Is he kidding me?

  “The movie!” I hold my hands out and flap my hands like a bird.

  He shrugs his shoulder.

  “You’re dead to me.”

  “Don’t worry, Lia can play it sometime for you,” Barnabas pipes in, and I want to backhand him.

  “Apparently, you’ll have to do that, Lia.” Kiev smiles. Maybe I will but only because he must see the movie.

  Kiev pulls into a parking spot close to the front of the blue, red, and tan building. It’s already dark outside, and we seem to be the only car here with the exception of Dad’s Jeep. The nighttime isn’t as hopping as the morning time at IHOP, I suppose.

  When we walk inside, Dad and Dom are already at a table, even though we left before them. “I called your mom, but she’s still at work. I told her I’d order her something to go, so you can bring it to her when you get home,” Dad says.

  “All right,” I reply as I take a menu and scan down it. The New York Cheesecake pancakes are popping out to me on the page. I need those in my life.

  Barnabas is texting someone on the phone, which my guess is Sophie. He told her his phone works now.

  “What are you getting?” I ask Kiev.

  He points to the same pancakes that I’m eyeballing. “These bad boys.”

  “Yes! You’re no longer dead to me—you are now resurrected.”

  Kiev holds his fists up in front of him. “The heavens just opened back up for me.”

  A young male waiter with bedhead hair struts to our table, interrupting our conversation. “What can I get you guys?

  Dad tells him that we’re ready to order our food, so we tell the guy what we want.

  “Bacon or sausage with the pancakes?” the waiter asks my dad.

  “Neither!” my dad practically yells and covers his mouth with a fist like he’s about to heave. I’m surprised Dad is still hungry, but he’s always hungry.

  “No more bacon?” Dom asks Dad.

  Dad sighs. “I’ll go back to hating bacon.”

  “Until next year,” I add.

  After we eat, Dad hands me the to-go box with Mom’s food. “Hope to see you around, Kiev. Barnabas, I know we’ll see you.”

  I spot a metal armadillo in the garden in front of the building that reminds me of Pepe. “Kiev has an armadillo,” I say.

  “What?” Dad asks, mouth drawing up in bemusement.

  “An armadillo.” I hold my hands up about an armadillo width apart.

  Dom’s wide stare flicks to Kiev. “You have one … as a pet?”

  “Yeah,” Kiev answers like it’s no big deal to have a freaking armadillo.

  “Oh, you’ll have to bring it by sometime. I have to see this,” Dom says with excitement.

  “Roger that,” Kiev replies.

  I tell my dads I’ll see them tomorrow, and we head out. When Kiev drops us off at the apartment building, Barnabas practically leaps out of the car with a quick thank you and vanishes.

  Stunned about how quickly Barnabas can move, I turn to Kiev. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, just a couple more days left for festival fun.” He holds up a peace sign representing the number two.

  His phone beeps, and Monica instantly comes to my mind. I almost forgot about how intense their conversation looked earlier today. I’d ask him about her, but it’s really none of my business.

  “Yeah, two more days. Later, Kiev.” I give him a quick wave and walk away.

  Barnabas pops out of the shadows, and I let out a weird squawking noise. “What are you doing?”

  “I was just giving you and your boyfriend space.” He grins.

  “He’s not my boyfriend. I’m pretty sure he’s Monica’s.”

  “Did you ask him?”

  “No.” Why would I even ask him that?

  “Maybe you should.” He grabs my shoulders and gives them a small shake.

  I tell myself that I don’t care enough to ask, but I know I’m lying to myself. I need some Nintendo distraction now.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kiev + Vienna

  As I drive home after dropping Lia and Barnabas off, I think about this crazy day, which felt like two. First, I rejected a hot Latina and told her she belonged in the non-girlfriend-go-away zone. Then, I spent the afternoon with another hot girl, who definitely belongs in the I-want-to-be-with-you zone.

  Lia.

  Her dads are easy going and cool, so that’s a plus, but I wonder if her mom will be the same. I hope she isn’t like mine.

  I’m driving on an avenue with lampposts in the middle, illuminating the pavement and other cars. But when I enter my subdivision, it’s as if the street lights shut off. I’ve always wondered why my subdivision is so dark.

  After parking my car in my driveway, I step out and walk to the door. Muffled shouting filters through it—a discussion. I wait several minutes until the voices fade before getting into the house and walking toward my bedroom.

  Dad steps out of his office. “¿Tu también, Kiev?” he says with a frown.

  “Me what?” I ask in Spanish.

  He asks why I’m late, which makes me feel like crap, because I forgot to text him. So I tell him I went to IHOP with Lia and her parents. Dad inspects my face for a long time, as if trying to figure out if I’m lying, but I sustain his gaze to confirm I’m telling the truth. Finally, he drops his tense shoulders and sighs.

  “I worry for you two,” he says in Spanish.

  “Sorry—lo siento,” I say, and I really mean it.

  He puts a hand on my shoulder and nods.

  I drag my feet to my bedroom and stop in front of Vi’s door, loud music escaping through it. Dad worries too much about her, and it hurts me seeing him weak and defeated. I mean, I’ve always admired how hard he works, and how he’s always there for us. That’s why I’m trying to figure out what’s going on with Vi. At least, I know she hangs out with Chris because they’re friends. With benefits? I hope that isn’t the case—cringe.

  Sighing, I head into my room, put on my pajamas, and lie in bed. Now that I think of it, today felt like three days: Monica’s drama, Lia’s fun, and Vi’s drama. Yeah, my life is full of drama, and I love drama, but of the theater kind.

  My phone buzzes with a text.

  Cole: I have new private investigator discoveries.

  Me: Do tell.

  Cole: In person. Tomorrow.

  Me: See you half an hour before school?

  Cole: Need. Beauty. Rest. Lunch. Secret. Restroom.

  It’s like he’s texting in Morse code.

  Me: Okay.

  Skipping lunch works for me, because Monica will show up at the cafeteria, and I’m not ready to go all TMZ-drama again. Besides, Mr. Butrow’s words about studying the next school play echo in my head. When he said that, I hated it—thought it was out of pity. But now that I’m calmer, I think it wouldn’t hurt reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream during lunch break, especially Puck’s lines.

  The next day, after second period, I find Lia taking out a book out of her locker. She’s in her usual ripped jeans and baggy blue t-shirt.

  “What happened to your when-I-was-thirteen black pants?” I ask her.

  She turns to me. “Those are definitely not school material.”

  I miss them, I think. Instead, I say, “Cool.”

  “Cool,” she echoes, clutching the book against her chest.

  “So, are you still in love with the New York Cheesecake pancakes?” I ask.

  She chews her lower lip, as if their flavor were still in her mouth. “I married them last night.”

  I chuckle. “Oh, no. You aren’t single anymore.”

  “That’s right.” She smiles.

  Sophie strolls up beside us, then examines us, as if we’re aliens or something. “You two are, like, dating now?”

  I
shake my head and point at Lia. “She’s married.”

  Lia nods. “I’m totally a polygamist. I married three New York Cheesecake pancakes last night.”

  “I may have to go that route myself,” Sophie says as she walks away.

  Lia jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Bell’s about to ring.”

  “Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’ll see you after school for more piggy adventures.”

  “Yep.” She gives me a two-finger wave. “You just boosted my excitement.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you in my pig chariot.” I watch her leave until she turns a corner.

  When lunch arrives, I rush to the secluded restroom. I wait and wait, and when Cole doesn’t show up, I text him.

  Me: Where are you?

  A long time passes before he replies.

  Cole: Still investigating. Give me a few more minutes.

  Me: Make it fast.

  Cole: One cannot rush an investigation. Besides, you’re missing our fine cafeteria’s Tuesday Special.

  Greasy pot roast with cold gravy and colder mash potatoes—no thanks.

  Me: You mean, the brown mess special?

  Cole: That is correct.

  Moments later, the door opens and Cole steps in, gasping for air.

  When he recovers, he smooths his t-shirt. “I have new discoveries, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”

  “Spill the … information."

  “I talked to your sister again and again.” He puffs out his chest, proud of himself. “And this time she opened up to me.”

  “Again and again?” I lift a brow. “How come?”

  He brushes his fingernails on his t-shirt and blows at them. “I’m a very social human, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”

  “Meaning?” I ask, wanting to shake him by the shoulders.

  He walks to the sink and addresses the mirror. “It’s easy for me to make new friends, even if they’re juniors. Isn’t that right, Mr. Doppelganger Novotny?” He turns to me. “He said I’m awesome.”

  I join him at the sink. “Get to the point.”

  He bobs his head. “You want me to spill the farming beans?”

  “Dude.”

  “Okay, okay.” He rubs his hands, as if ready to attack a Chinese Buffet. “Yesterday after you left with Miss Ophelia Abbie, I—”

  I hold out a hand. “It’s Lia.”

  “You know I dislike using nicknames—it’s disrespectful.”

  I shake my head. “Let me put it this way, Cole—if she wants you to call her Lia and you still call her Ophelia, isn’t that disrespectful?”

  He points at my image in the mirror. “Are you sure you want to offer your heart to her, Mr. Kiev Jimenez? Or should I call you Mr. Kiev Abbie?”

  I want to punch him in the stomach again, but I have to be patient. “Stop being dumb and tell me what happened with Vi.”

  He nods. “As I was saying, yesterday after you left with the owner of your blood-pumping organ, I conversed with Miss Vienna Jimenez.” He looks down for a second. “I talked to her some more today.”

  “Twice?” I ask, as my stomach constricts. “Are you hitting on my sister, Cole?”

  He crosses his arms. “Do you want to know the result of my investigation?”

  “Do not evade my question.”

  Motioning a hand at the mirror, he says, “Miss Vienna Jimenez and I are friends. We’ve known each other since forever, Mr. Kiev Jimenez. You don’t strike me as a person of the jealous type.”

  I take a breath. “What did you find out? Make it super short, dude.”

  “She told me she misses her mother.” He wrinkles his forehead.

  We all miss Mom at home, I think. But she left us. “I knew that.”

  Cole raises a finger. “There’s more. Everything in your house reminds Miss Vienna Jimenez of her mother. She wants to be at home, but at the same time she doesn’t want to, which is very confusing to her.”

  “Oh,” I say. I think of Dad—perhaps this info may help him turn Vi around or something.

  We storm out of the restroom and rush to our respective classes.

  At the end of the school day, strolling toward my car, hands in pockets and all, I spot Lia waiting there.

  “You’re early,” I say.

  “That’s right, Captain Obvious.” She chuckles. “We have early piggy duties today.”

  “Yup.” I open the passenger door and bow. “As promised, the pig chariot awaits you.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Maybe if it was pink.”

  After she slides in, I walk around the car and get in. We leave the parking lot and ride in silence.

  “Okay, what’s up with you?” she asks as we enter the highway leading to the festival. “You have this super serious expression going on.”

  “Nothing.” I sigh. “Not nothing. Some drama going on in my house—kinda boring.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

  I glance at her, and she smiles. I’m not sure why I feel like I can trust her. “It’s about my sister Vi,” I say, concentrating on the road ahead, on the straight line that disappears in the horizon.

  “That doesn’t surprise me, based on the other night. How is she doing?”

  I look at her as she rolls down her window. A wind gust pushes her cap off her head.

  Craning my neck, I spot it on the backseat. “Perfect landing.”

  “Yep.” She pokes her head out the window, her hair floating all over the place. Man, she drives me crazy, and she doesn’t even know it.

  She pulls her head in and gestures ahead. “We’re gonna crash if you don’t keep your focus on the road.”

  I grip the steering wheel harder. “I like your hair like that.”

  “Like what?” She looks at me confused, like she has no idea how hard I’m checking her out.

  I slow down, pull to the curb, and look at her.

  She leans to the side a little. “What?”

  “I like your hair when it’s loose.” I grab a strand of her smooth hair and rub it between my fingers.

  Lia stares at my hand and looks back up at me, and I lock my gaze with hers.

  “We’re gonna be late,” she says after a long moment.

  “Right.” I blink. “Of course.”

  At the fair, Caroline gives us a list with today’s tasks: clean the Pig Shack, help set up the “Best Pig” judges’ table, and monitor the lassoing station—whatever that means.

  Mr. Ham welcomes us with a pair of brooms when we step into the Pig Shack. “All righty,” he says, offering us the cleaning utensils. “Clean-up time, piggies.”

  Lia frowns but snatches one broom.

  “Ready for duty, sir.” I take mine.

  “All righty.” He turns to leave.

  We spend the next hour sweeping in silence, producing lots of dust. Next, we stroll to the storage area, which is just a bunch of white tents with stuff inside.

  “So, about my sister,” I say to Lia, as we carry a table.

  Lia lifts her side of the table a little more. “Yeah?”

  “Vi’s attitude is driving us crazy at home, mainly Dad.” I pause for effect, before adding, “Today I found out why—she really misses Mom.”

  She stops. “That sucks.”

  “Big time. I hate seeing Dad sad over Vi all the time.” I start walking again. “Do you have any home drama?”

  “Well, sometimes my Mom hates on my dad. But that’s with all men in general, since he left her for another man. However, they still make it work.” She pushes up her side of the table.

  “How old were you when your parents divorced?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “A little before I turned one.”

  “Okay, then,” I say, resuming our torturous walk.

  Soon, we reach an area that stinks of animal crap, and sure enough there are corrals with pigs.

  Caroline joins us and points at the ground. “Unfold it right there.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  Lia and I perform our task in silence,
then go back to the storage tents and bring back chairs.

  “Time for some lassoing,” I say when we’re done. “Yeehaw!”

  Lia laughs, and as we stroll toward the lassoing station, I try to picture it. Of course there’ll be cowboy lassos, horses, and even bulls.

  “You gotta be kidding me,” I say as we turn a corner and spot a sign reading, Piggy Lassoing.

  The detail is—it’s pretty much two corrals filled with piglets, one for “Cowboys,” the other for “Cowgirls.” Not only that, but there’s a tired-looking woman with a bunch of kids aged six to still-too-young. Actually, I think they’re waiting for us.

  I approach the lady. “Are you here for the lassoing?”

  “Thank, God, you’re here.” She checks her wristwatch. “You’re ten minutes late.”

  Not sure if I want to say anything because, let’s face it, dealing with little kids should be torturous.

  “Okay,” Lia intervenes, “I’ll take care of the girls.” She turns her attention to the children. “Cowgirls, follow me.” And there she goes, marching to the corral on the left, a line of little girls following her.

  “Let’s lasso some cows and bulls, cowboys,” I say with a twang.

  A boy of pink complexion pulls at my t-shirt. “Sir, those are little piggies not cows or bulls.” He takes off his thick glasses and offers them to me. “Check them out.”

  I squat in front of him. “Cows and bulls—it’s just a figure of speech.”

  He bobs his head. “The little pigs are … figures?” He turns his attention to whom I think is his teacher. “What’s a peach of figure, Ms. Johnson?”

  She slides a hand down her face, slowly, as if trying not to explode in anger. “Just go and enjoy the lassoing.” She throws an imaginary rope in the air. “Yahoo,” she says in an extremely unenthusiastic voice, almost complaining.

  “O-kay.” I step to the little gate and open it. “First—”

  A torrent of kids rush inside, while the piglets dart to the corners.

  “Kids,” I say to no avail, as if talking to the air.

  I look around and find wooden horse sticks and small lassos close by. I guess that’s how this works, but Caroline should’ve explained better.

  “Hey, kiddos,” I say, “I found some horseys.”

  The boys stop running and look in my direction. Although there are no bulls here, the kids dart toward me like a bull stampede, then fight for the wooden horses. They try to lasso the piglets, which run away, squealing.