Shark Bait (The Grab Your Pole Series)

by Cooksey, Jenn

  “Then he won’t mind tellin’ us ‘bout the two hundred bucks. How’d that happen?” His dad asked enthusiastically.

  “Oh, there was a bet on whether this guy’s nose was broken in a fight at Mike’s party. Most people went with the safe odds but I knew for a fact it was.”

  “How’d you know that?” His mom asked, fairly interested in the same way I was when I’d asked the same question earlier.

  “I’m the one who broke it.”

  “I just hope ya had a good reason,” his dad responded without any condemnation in his tone.

  “I had excellent provocation plus, I won an award for doing it!”

  “Tristan, what in the world did he do to make you want to hit him hard enough to break his nose?”

  All of a sudden I became aware of the tension in Tristan’s body next to me and I could tell he wasn’t happy thinking about the answer to his mom’s question, so I thought I’d help him out.

  “He put his hand on my butt and tried to kiss me.”

  “Yep, that’ll do it,” his dad said, nodding his head in obvious approval.

  “I would say so,” his mom said in understanding.

  “Yeah, that made him really very unhappy,” I agreed with them.

  “Okay, so on that note…if you two don’t mind, I’ll catch you up on everything else later. Camie hasn’t seen Phineas and Ferb in over a week and they miss her.”

  With that abrupt statement, Tristan pulled me to my feet, tossed the basketball to me, grabbed the collage and then led me up to his room.

  When he opened his door he called out, “Mom’s home!”

  Upon hearing his voice, our two little bundles of fur materialized from under his bed and came running. Grinning, I dropped to ground and cuddled them both as they climbed on me and began to purr. I almost forgot how completely adorable they are.

  “My parents said I can keep them, so we can pack them up and I can bring them home with me when you take me.”

  “Well, I was thinking about that, Camie…I’m pretty attached to the little buggers.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that. I guess he can keep them…it’s not like they wouldn’t be cared for here or anything; it’s just that they’ve grown so much over the last week and I missed it.

  Tristan was watching me play with them and I think he could tell I was disappointed with the idea of not getting to see them all the time. “I might have a solution though if you’re game…wanna hear it?”

  “Tristan, we can’t split ‘em up.” I’m thinking that would really be the only way for him and me both to have them and that’s just not gonna happen. No way am I going to separate them after all they’ve been through. I’d rather he just keep them.

  “Oh God, I wouldn’t dream of splitting ‘em up! I was thinking of shared custody.”

  “Shared custody?” Huh. I never even thought about that.

  We talked about that option for all of thirty seconds; decided it could work and then we came up with a rotation schedule while Tristan affixed a piece of paper over the picture in the collage of Pete in mid-slurp on which he’d written:

  By Penalty of Death,

  Do Not Remove.

  EVER.

  Then he hung the collage on the wall next to his bed. The schedule we agreed on says that I’ll have the kitties one week, he’ll have them the next and so on. That way they won’t get used to being at one house for too long and since they’ve already been here for a week, it’s my turn to have them. We also decided that in the future, we’ll do the swapping on Saturdays or Sundays.

  From what Tristan says, Phineas and Ferb eat like they’re starving all the time so it wasn’t just that first night, but after having played with them long enough for them to get hungry and actually watching them scarf their food again, I’m starting to wonder how much these cutie-critters are gonna eat out of my car fund. Really, I don’t have a clue where they put it all. When they were done eating though, we packed up about half of their stuff and went to my house.

  Oh and he was right by the way. I had to keep myself from giggling when we said goodbye to his parents because on our way out, Tristan jerked his chin in their direction, indicating that I take note of the fact that his dad was drinking a beer and his mom was holding a glass of what looked like champagne. All in all, the awkwardness I’d expected never really made an appearance and I feel like his mom and dad actually really like me, so I’m calling it a huge victory. After my unexpected meeting of his parents though, I was thinking Tristan might be a little concerned about having to meet mine. After all, my dad has already threatened Tristan’s life, you know? I waited until he pulled up to my house and then I warned him.

  “Okay, fair’s fair…you have to meet my parents.”

  “I’m not worried. Parents love me.” He gave me a cocky grin and turned the car off.

  “And I’m gonna have to tell ‘em about the age difference.” I stifled my own amusement at his obvious discomfort about that.

  “Maybe you can tell ‘em about that when I’m not here…”

  “I could, but that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. Come on, you big chicken…”

  “Easy for you to say…my parents weren’t cleaning hand guns.”

  I laughed about that but was thinking to myself that his parents were engaged in some intellectually intimidating activities instead. Apparently the rule about brains and/or good looks skipping a generation doesn’t apply to Tristan’s family.

  We walked in the house to find Jillian sprawled on the couch with her back to us watching John Tucker Must Die.

  Noticing what she was watching, Tristan said, “Hey Jillian. I see you’re brushing up on vengeance plots.” At least he gets it.

  Without turning her head to look at him or give him a single word of hello, she raised her hand backwards to give Tristan a high-five.

  “Where’re Mom and Dad?”

  “Dad went in late so he’s not home yet, mom’s in the kitchen, and our new phones came in today…yours is on the kitchen table.”

  Hmm, I wasn’t thinking I’d have to go through the introduction twice, not to mention informing them of the age discrepancy twice. That bites. I don’t think they’ll really freak out, like not allow me to see him or anything, but they might shorten my leash quite a bit, which would fairly well stink, in my humble opinion.

  “Okay well, we’re gonna get Phineas and Ferb settled in my room and then I guess go into the first wave of battle.” I probably should’ve phrased it better because Tristan shot me a look like I’d robbed him of the chance to have worn armor.

  “You gonna tell ‘em?” Jill still hasn’t taken her eyes from the TV but I know exactly what she’s asking.

  “Yeah. It’s time to git-r-done.”

  She finally consented to tip her head back, but she was looking at Tristan when she said, “Chill-ax. Legally all they can get you on is contributing to the delinquency of a minor and there’s no jail time with that.”

  Fabulous. Thanks Sis…

  I looked at Tristan’s face. He was slowly nodding in agreement and looking somewhat contemplative when he said, “True. I get to worry about that in February.”

  “What are you two going on about?” I thought she was just giving him a hard time but they’re both being more or less serious.

  “California State Law regarding age of consent,” my sister answered matter-of-factly, having gone back to watching the movie she’s seen like seventeen times.

  “How do you know this?” I was asking Jillian primarily so I was hard pressed not to laugh when she and Tristan answered in unison.

  “I looked it up.”

  “When?!” This time I was mostly interested in hearing from Tristan.

  “The night of your first day of school after I found out you were fifteen.”

  “Same here.”

  Her admission doesn’t surprise me…she did tell me she’d have my back regardless, but his kind of did. Then again, it probably shouldn’t have. I have
a feeling Tristan is the kind of person who does his homework.

  I rolled my eyes at them and said, “Whatever. I just kinda wanted to tell them together. I don’t really relish the idea of going through it twice.”

  Sighing in resignation, I headed up to my room with a kitten supply laden Tristan following close behind me as if I were a shield.

  “Do you think I can pass for sixteen?”

  I laughed. “I doubt you passed for sixteen when you were sixteen.”

  “Humph.”

  We were getting the kittens settled—and fed again—when Jillian came in—uninvited—and after dropping my new phone on my bed, she then proceeded to wave my baby scrapbook in front of me. Oh and the new phone is simply because my dad’s company—which pays for all the employee’s and their families’ cell phones—changed service providers so we all had to get new phones…

  “What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Really Camie, do I have to do all the problem solving here? I can’t believe you don’t remember…”

  I went to take it from her but she held it out of reach and said, “Not so fast.” Then she turned to Tristan, handed him a piece of paper and a pen and said, “Sign it.”

  I honestly can’t fathom what kind of contract she would’ve drawn up for Tristan to sign, but apparently he had no problem with it because he laughed and signed his name without question or hesitation. When he handed it back to her, she in turn handed my baby book—with all the embarrassing naked bath pictures, etc…ad nauseum—not to me, but to him! She really, really infuriates me sometimes.

  “Hey!” I went to grab it, but she swatted my hand out of the way.

  “Nuh-uh. This is your punishment for having forgotten and making me save you guys. Again. Page two, Bus Boy.” Bus Boy?

  “Lemme see that…”

  I swiped the contract out of my irritating sister’s hand while my first-ever boyfriend opened the infantile tool of mortification. Yeah, it’s no longer a baby book; it’s an implement to be used to send me scurrying under the darkest rock I can find.

  I can see why he thought the “contract” was funny though. Jillian was practicing CYA and covering her perky backside with a signed statement that essentially absolves her of owing Tristan Twinkies or any snack food whatsoever, as well as stating that he will not now or in the future press charges against her for breaking into his bus that night. In fact, it states that he is to never bring it up to her or anyone else for the duration of both their lives.

  “Ah. We’re good,” Tristan said to himself. Then, still studying my damned book, he said, “Uh Camie, in light of the situation we find ourselves in, I think we should thank your sister for remembering something that you really should’ve.”

  “Okay, thanks Jill. Now what the hell is it with page two of my baby boo—” Oh shit. I feel like such a moron.

  “Took you long enough. Oh and if you want my advice…”

  “Yes please, Master Yoda,” I replied to my sister the savior.

  “Tell Mom now.”

  “Good day?”

  “Great day. Dad went in almost two hours late,” Jill told me with raised brows. Ah. Quality time with Dad without the kids. “Besides, he’s already got an in with Dad.”

  “Oh yeah, I didn’t really think about that.”

  “Are you two gonna share?” Tristan asked, slightly irritated that he’s having a hard time following our “sister speak.”

  “Cars. He loves ‘em. In fact, he drives a ‘66 Nova.”

  “Oh shit, why didn’t you say that before? This is gonna be easy.”

  And it was.

  My mom was humming to herself and making dinner when Tristan and I walked into the kitchen holding hands. She took one look at us, studied Tristan for a somewhat disconcerting moment, and then with a quirk of her lips she asked, “How much?”

  “Not much more than between you and dad.”

  Page two of my baby book has photocopies of my parents’ hospital pictures and all their birth trivia including their birth dates. You see, my parents were high school sweethearts and they did graduate together, but I’d totally forgotten my mom skipped two grades, one in elementary school and then one in high school. My mom is wicked-smart like Jillian is and she and my dad wanted to graduate together and get married that summer. I wasn’t born until like five years after that, so no, it wasn’t a shotgun wedding; they just really loved each other. My mom’s parents were all for it, having been raised by parents who came from the Midwest during a time when people got married really young and had a butt-load of kids to help work on the farms and stuff. It’s interesting how some family trends and lifestyles are passed down through the generations, isn’t it?

  “Damn it. That doesn’t make me very happy, Camie (oh crap)…I owe your father twenty dollars.”

  “Excuse me?” I’m really thinking, “What the hell?”

  Seriously, they placed a bet? What is it with everyone around me gambling lately?

  “Your father’s guess is that he’s about two years older, I went with about a year and a half.”

  Just so you know, my dad is around a year and nine months older than my mom, so when I said there wasn’t much more of an age difference between her and my dad, my mom knew she’d lost the bet.

  “Tristan, is it?”

  “Yes ma’am.” Tristan’s doing a stellar job hiding his amusement and maintaining a respectful attitude but I can tell by his eyes and his tone that he’s dying to laugh.

  “Alright, first of all, call me ma’am once more and you won’t step foot in this house again. I refuse to be that old. That being said, would you like to stay for dinner? I’m making stroganoff.”

  Tristan lost control of his laughter at that point.

  And that was it for the age problem. We didn’t even have to say anything about it to my dad when he came home about fifteen minutes later.

  Doing my homework in the kitchen with Tristan helping me with math and trying not to laugh at me over my hatred of it, we heard the garage door leading into the house slam shut and then my dad’s deep voice say, “Where’s the boy?”

  We looked at my mom. Ignoring us, she stopped stirring the pan on the stove, greeted my dad with a kiss as he walked into the kitchen and then she playfully shoved a twenty-dollar bill in his face. It made him laugh so hard, his pretense of trying to be intimidating all but evaporated.

  “Let’s talk,” my dad said to Tristan with a “come on, follow me” gesture of his hand.

  Tristan winked at me and got up from the table to follow my dad out of the kitchen and as they headed towards the garage, I heard the beginnings of automotive male bonding and what I hope will turn into a beautiful friendship between my father and the almost adult guy who’s dating his almost sixteen-year-old daughter.

  “You can drive mine if I can drive yours.”

  “The Nova a coupe or hard top?”

  “Coupe.”

  “Nice. Okay, you got a deal. Three on the tree?”

  “Yep, kept it stock. Yours?”

  “It came with a factory automatic but I wanted a four on the floor.”

  “Muncie or Saginaw?”

  “Muncie.”

  “From the sound of it, you got a small block in there…”

  “Yeah, a 327…it’s built.”

  “Thought so…”

  Again, dinner was a much louder affair at my house than it normally is. My dad was playing music as is typical, but the addition of my boyfriend’s conversation and antics at the table added a new dimension to our meal. I was thinking Tristan seems to have fit in with surprising quickness and ease as he and Jillian had been doing some verbal battling of wits, which then escalated into the three of us throwing dinner rolls at each other. Then at one point when Jillian returned from answering the door for trick-or-treaters, she pulled my baby book from behind her back and presented it to Tristan again. I protested loudly and went to grab it back, but he held it out of reach with one hand and held me away w
ith the other. Laughing, but with my head being shoved to the side, I caught my dad looking at my mom and followed his gaze to notice that she looked happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. She had the brightest smile on her face as she watched Jillian make faces at me from the other side of the table and Tristan flip through pages of my baby book, gathering ammunition by which to tease me with I’m sure.

  It wasn’t quite 6:30 when we adjourned to the family room for some TV.

  “Mandy, it looks like none of our shows are on tonight what with Halloween, so let’s take a vote on what to watch.”

  My dad raised his hands in apology for having even considered the foolishness of needing to vote when all four of us shouted “Buffy!” at him like “Duh! What else would we want to watch?” My mom shot a dazzling smile at Tristan when she heard his voice mixed in with in hers, Jillian’s, and mine. Having been totally out numbered, my dad located a DVD from my mom’s and my personal favorite season which is season three, and then the five of us settled in to watch some classic vampire slayer comedy.

  Now I’m not sure why she opted out of trick-or-treating this year, but Jillian went to her room after we finished watching the first episode and I didn’t make it through much of the second before I fell asleep on the couch with my head on a pillow in Tristan’s lap. He had one arm wrapped around me with the fingers of his hand entwined with mine, the other was dangling off the arm of the couch and he had his legs stretched out on the ottoman in front of him with his ankles crossed. I’m assuming he’d crashed too because the sound of our front door screen being clicked closed woke me enough to hear my parents talking quietly through the open window. I’m guessing they’re on their porch swing because I can hear it squeaking a little as it slowly glides back and forth.

  “They both out?” My dad asked.

  “Mm-hmm. I think so.”

  “Shouldn’t we wake ‘em up?”

  “I’m surprised all the trick-or-treating noise hasn’t already, but it’s still early…let’s let them sleep for a while. I think they had a long weekend,” my mom answered.

  “You enjoyed dinner quite a bit, didn’t you?”