So Over My Head (2010)

by Jenny B. Jones

  Ten minutes into my typing frenzy, a shadow falls over my keyboard.

  Luke looms, his blue eyes ever serious. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”

  I stare at the screen as if my own writing is the most engrossing thing ever. “Thanks. Your concern is touching.”

  “Of course I’m concerned.”

  “Really? Because practically all of Truman High came to visit me this weekend—but you.” Shoot! I was notgoing to say that. I was going to play it so cool that he didn’t so much as call me after we left the carnival Saturday night. No call. No text. No e-mail.

  “We’re broken up. Remember?”

  “Right.” I lift my chin a notch. “And I thought we’d still be friends, but maybe you’re not mature enough to handle that.”

  “I heard about all the people stopping by over the weekend, so I didn’t want to smother you. I know how you hate that.”

  Nothing like having your words thrown back at you. Like a big spitty paper wad.

  “And I didn’t know it would bother you to not hear from me.” He has the nerve to look smug. “Missing me already?”

  “It didn’t bother me.” I meet his challenging gaze. “My mom was asking about you. That’s all.” Ugh. I need a scarlet Lfor liar.

  Luke sits his Hollister-clad legs on the edge of my work station. “I do have some news that will probably upset you.”

  “You’re stepping down as editor, and Zac Efron is taking your place?”

  Luke’s eyes narrow a fraction before he continues. “You’re being reassigned.”

  My hands slip off the keyboard. “What did you say?”

  “I’m taking over the series on the carnival.”

  “Um, no you’re not.”

  He blinks down at me. “Yes. I am.”

  “But I—”

  “I’m the editor, and that’s final.”

  My mouth opens in a sputter. “I . . . but you . . . this can’t . . .” I stand from my chair. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Holman.” Our advisor will straighten this out.

  Luke stops me with a hand on my arm. “I’ve already discussed it with him. He’s in complete agreement.”

  I put my nose inches away from his. “I cannot believe you would stoop this low.” Where’s the sensitive guy who came back for me Saturday night? Because this boy right here needs a good, swift kick in the— “Bella, you’re a good writer. We both know that. But you’re also reckless and tend to run headfirst into danger.”

  I glance at his ex-girlfriend, whose blonde hair is disgustingly perfect. “If you assign her to this, so help me—”

  “Ashley Timmons has nothing to do with this.” His eyes darken. “She has nothing to do with anything.”

  “Didn’t look that way in the carnival parking lot.”

  “Let that go. She and I both have. Ashley’s already apologized. She feels terrible.”

  I’m sure she’s doubled over with grief. More like she’s planning her next make-out attack.

  “I’d already finished the first article.” I punch my finger in his solid chest. “You can’t just rip me off this story.”

  He grabs my hand, holds it suspended. “Yes. I can. And I just did. We’ll run your interview with Betty, but I’ve e-mailed you the details of your new assignment.”

  “You are such”—I wrench my hand free—“a jerk.”

  Luke quirks a black brow. “Then I guess I’ve finally lived up to your low expectations.”

  I bite my bottom lip to keep from yelling like a banshee. Not that the class would notice. Everyone is writing away and listening to their iPods. Except for one.

  Ashley Timmons.

  I glower in her direction, and she snaps her attention back to her computer.

  “Is this in retaliation for breaking up with you?” My voice is a whisper.

  “You know me better than that. This is for your protection— because when you get nosy, you tend to get into near-death situations.” He brushes a finger on my forehead. “There’s something brewing in there. Admit it.”

  “Yeah, it’s called dislike for my editor and a certain opportunistic reporter.”

  “We’ll revisit this in a few weeks and see if we need to reevaluate.” Luke opens his mouth to say something then changes his mind. “I’ll leave you to your new assignment.”

  My eyes shoot poison darts at his back as he saunters away.

  By the time lunch rolls around, I’m in a mood worthy of a category four hurricane.

  “He said what?” Ruthie McGee cuts into her burrito with the contraband pocketknife she keeps in her boot. Today her hair is a shocking shade of electric blue, teased to Marge Simpson heights and tied off with a camouflage headband.

  “Luke took me off the carnival story.” My head pounds inside my skull, and I regret not taking my mom up on her idea to stay home.

  “Bella, that sounds very thoughtful to me.” This from Lindy, the first friend I made at Truman High. She hung out with me in exchange for my giving her a makeover to catch a boy. The make-over and friendship stuck, but Matt Sparks, her best friend and unrequited love, has never treated her as anything more than a sister. “He knows how awful Saturday night was for you—finding that woman . . . um, you know—”

  “Nose deep in meringue?” Ruthie crunches on a chip. “Gone to that great Gillette razor in the sky?”

  “I mean Luke probably knows how traumatic all that is going to be for you for a while. So I think it’s very thoughtful of him to take you off the story.” Lindy eyes Matt Sparks, sitting next to her, lost in his burger. “Romantic even.”

  “And they arrested that Alfredo guy,” Ruthie says. “So I guess it’s not like you need to go back to the carnival and investigate.”

  I focus on peeling the label off my water bottle. “Right.”

  Ruthie gasps, clutching her throat of a hundred necklaces. “I’ve seen that look before. Like at prom when you and my dream muffin Budge saved us from that psycho who wanted to blow us all up.”

  “Bella, no.” Lindy frowns. “Can’t you just lay low for a while? In the short time you’ve been at Truman, you’ve almost been killed twice.”

  “Yeah.” I wave off Lindy. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure the police are on top of everything. I just—” I pause as a tall boy stops at our table. He holds out a Gatorade.

  “Hey, Lindy.” He swallows visibly. “I just wanted to thank you for sharing your water at track practice yesterday.” He hands her the bottle. “I wanted to return the favor. I noticed this is your favorite.”

  Lindy accepts it, a small smile on her face. “Thanks, Bo.”

  The senior’s cheeks pinken. “I’m on my way to check the next practice schedule. Um, in case you’d want to walk with me to the gym.”

  “Yeah.” Lindy laughs and fingers the collar of her T-shirt. “Yeah, I would.” Clutching her Gatorade, she follows Bo Blades, THS track star, out of the cafeteria.

  “I’ll clean up your tray.” Matt picks up Lindy’s trash, his movements jerky, his brow furrowed.

  Ruthie and I exchange a look.

  “Bo is so cute.” She sighs. “Not as cute as my Budgie—but still a hot number.”

  “Especially in those running shorts,” I add. “Mee-yeow.”

  “Lindy had pizza on her shirt again,” Matt huffs. “But I guess Bo won’t even notice.” He stomps away.

  I chew on a carrot stick. “Well, that was interesting.”

  “Indeed. It seems Lindy has an admirer and her BFF is muchojealous. Either that or he just has PMS.” Ruthie pats her big hair. “It happens to the best of us.”

  I see Luke Sullivan enter the cafeteria with Kyle and some of his soccer buddies. Walking by his side is Ashley Timmons. She tips her head back and laughs at something he says. Whatever small appetite I had is now officially gone. He’s hanging out with her?

  “That girl is too cute,” Ruthie says then catches my expression. “Er, I mean, no. She’s sounattractive.” Her face scrunches in disgust. �
�I’ve seen dog butts prettier than her.”

  “Luke and I have broken up. He can flirt with whoever he wants.” Never mind the feeling of a million pinpricks to my heart. I’m sure it’s just indigestion. Cafeteria gas.

  “So what are we going to do to solve this carnival mystery?”

  I blink at Ruthie. “What? We’renot going to do anything. And besides, like everyone says, it’s probably all wrapped up. Just waiting on the sword prints. No mystery.”

  Ruthie leans over the table, getting closer. “Bella, you’re up to something, and I want in on it.”

  “No.”

  “Aw, come on! Batman . . . Sherlock Holmes . . . Scooby Doo—do you know what they all have that you don’t?”

  “Testosterone?”

  “Sidekicks!” Ruthie nods her blue head manically. “You need me. I could be the muscles behind the operation, and you’d be the brains. Plus it could be like my graduation present.”

  “You’re a walking arsenal and would probably get us arrested.” Why the Baptist preacher’s daughter feels the need to carry around brass knuckles and the occasional knife is beyond me.

  “Some of the Fritz crew goes to my daddy’s church every spring when they’re in town.” She waggles a single eyebrow. “I could get us part-time jobs at the place.”

  “I’m sure I can get my own job—not that I was thinking of doing that.” Item number one on my after-school to-do list: head to the Fritz Family Carnival . . .

  “Mr. Fritz might not want to see you around . . . since you bring all that bad mojo and all.” Ruthie shrugs. “But my dad could probably talk him into anything.”

  “I don’t bring bad mojo.”

  “Face it, you got dead girl juju.”

  “Fine. Talk to your dad.”

  “About what?” A masculine voice asks.

  Luke.

  Fabulous.

  “You could’ve told me he was standing there.” I swivel to face him. “Did you need something?”

  “You wouldn’t be making plans to get up close and personal with the Fritz gang, would you?”

  “Nope.” Ruthie answers for me. “But if she was, I’d be her new sidekick.” She picks up her tray and stands up. “I’m probably going to need to get me some business cards. And a logo—I need one of them logos. Maybe a snappy sidekick catchphrase.” Still talking to herself, Ruthie walks away to throw out her trash.

  Luke slowly shakes his head. “You just can’t leave well enough alone, can you?”

  “Funny.” I shoot a glance toward a watchful Ashley Timmons. “I was about to say the same to you.”

  chapter five

  Now we’re just going to check on Cherry. That’s all. Don’t act all weird and suspicious or anything.” I hang a left to the Fritz Family Carnival.

  Ruthie rolls down the passenger window in my Bug. “Me?” She snorts. “I’m cool. Queen of ice right here.”

  “Stick close to me and let me do all the talking.”

  “Duh.” She pats a thick book. “That’s what assistants do.”

  “What is that?”

  “A manual for sidekicks.” She pops her Bubblicious. “Got it off the Internet.”

  I pull into the gravel parking lot, and we get out. We walk past the Tilty Spin and the Zipper roller coaster.

  “That looks awesome.” Ruthie points to the twisted tracks of the coaster. “Nothing like being upside down, eh, boss?”

  “I’m not your boss.” Or I would’ve already fired you. “And you will never see me on one of those things.”

  Ruthie stops midstride. “Is somebodyafraid of heights?”

  I hold back a shiver as I look at all the rides. “Just when I’m on a ride that looks to be held together by duct tape and rubber bands.”

  “Ever kissed a boy on a Ferris wheel? It’s so romantic.” She sighs and looks toward the giant ride in the back of the lot. “Except for that time I puked on Sammy Stutes, which just proves corndogs and the Tilty Spin do notgo together.”

  We walk into the big top, and I check out the area. I’m not sure what exactly I’m doing. I guess I’m hoping I’ll know it when I see it.

  “Can I help you?”

  Ruthie and I look to the ceiling. There above us on a platform stands Cherry Fritz, trapeze in hand.

  “Actually,” I call out, “I just stopped by to check on you. I’m Bella Kirkwood. We met the other night.” You know, the night I found yourgodmother all dead and stuff.

  She lets the trapeze swing and skitters down the narrow ladder.

  “How are you doing?” I ask as she walks to us. “Back to work already?”

  She glances back up to her trapeze. “I needed to get my mind off things. The show is closed until tomorrow night, but I decided to work on a new stunt with our downtime.” Cherry frowns “Betty wouldn’t have approved, but I want to do it.”

  “Because it’s too hard?”

  “Almost as hard as the stunt that killed both my parents.” For a moment the hollow look returns to her gaze before she shakes it off. “But my uncle says it’s what we need to take the circus to the next level. Times are hard. People don’t come see us like they used to. He says we have to make this season’s show more dynamic.”

  I look over my shoulder and find Ruthie has vanished. Fabulous. She’s either sneaking a free ride on the bumper cars or patting down a suspect.

  “How is it working out at Dolly’s?”

  Cherry smiles. “It’s okay. I mean, it was weird at first—we’re distantly related and didn’t really know each other that well. But she’s been amazing. It’s been nice to have a home-cooked meal instead of something from one of the food trailers. And Dolly’s really easy to talk to.”

  Dolly has plenty of mother experience. She lost her two young daughters many years ago in a car wreck when she was still married to Mickey, my stepdad’s manager. My mom says there’s been a big gaping hole in Dolly’s heart ever since, so I’m sure she’s loving the company at her house.

  I startle at the sound of raised voices from the opposite side of the tent.

  “I’m through. This place is going under, and I’ve had it.” A man about as tall as my armpit stomps out of a partitioned tent, a clown wig in his fisted hand.

  Another guy, who could be his twin, follows close behind. “I can’t make a living here. More and more work—and for what? Less pay!”

  They bolt through the exit flap, and Cherry shakes her head. “That’s our fourth employee to walk today. Where in the world are we going to get two clowns on such short notice?”

  The Lord parted the Red Sea for the Israelites. Me? He gives a clown job. “I’ll do it.”

  Cherry blinks. “Are you serious?”

  My fake smile wobbles on my face. “Yeah. I’d love the job.” Whathave I done? “And my friend Ruthie would too.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m a great worker.” I can’t believe I’m having to convince some-one that I’d be a worthy clownfor crying out loud. “And Ruthie is so dependable and smart.”

  “Is that her?” Cherry points to a far corner where Ruthie McGee lies prostrate on a magician’s table.

  A man waves his hands over here. “Abracadabra! Shalla-kazaam! I will now cut you in half, then magically piece you back together.”

  “Oh, boy.” Cherry takes off for the couple, and I follow. “Bart!”

  He stops, his hand saw held high. Ruthie’s eyes go wide as funnel cakes.

  “How many times have I asked you not to touch Alfredo’s props?” Cherry rips the saw out of Bart’s grip. “Especially the sharp ones?”

  Ruthie bolts to a seated position. “What? You’re not a magician?”

  Cherry rolls her eyes as Bart runs away. “He’s a mechanic.”

  “He was going to cut me in half!” Ruthie straightens her biker jacket and sniffs. “I thought something was fishy when he asked me if I had any lug nuts.”

  “Cherry, I wanted to ask you a few questions about Betty, if you think you’re
up to it.”

  She frowns. “I guess.”

  “You mentioned that Afredo couldn’t have killed Betty—”

  Her answer comes quickly. “Because he loved her.”

  “They were a couple? For how long?”

  Cherry twirls a piece of her white-blonde hair. “Maybe three months. They had worked together for years, so for them to fall in love was totally out of the blue and unexpected.” Her face stretches into a contented smile. “Betty had never been happier. She’d never really had a lot of attention from the guys because—”

  “Her man-beard?”

  Cherry shoots an annoyed look at Ruthie. “Because she devoted her life to the circus—then to me.”

  “Did she get along with everyone here?” I ask. “Any enemies? Any fights or disagreements lately?”

  She considers this. “No, no one. Well, everyone has the occasional fight with Red, so that’s nothing different.”

  I perk at this. So Betty didn’t get along with creepy guy. “What problems could there be between Betty and Red?”

  Cherry lifts an eyebrow. “Why do you want to know?”

  Ruthie chortles. “Don’t you know who this is? She’s a famous crime—”

  I elbow my friend. “I’m just concerned. If I’m going to be working here and all.” I smile at Ruthie. “By the way, how do you feel about red honking noses and rainbow wigs?”

  Ruthie pats her blue hair. “That was so last year.”

  “I’ll introduce you to my cousin Stewart.” Cherry motions for us to follow. “He’s in charge of hiring hourly workers.”

  She leads us outside to the largest travel trailer on the grounds. This looks like the Hilton on wheels compared to the rest—even Betty’s.

  After one knock, Cherry swings open the door. “Stewart?” she yells. “I brought you two clowns.”

  I think I might be offended.

  We step up into the trailer. It’s much newer than Betty’s—large and spacious. The front half is an office of desks and file cabinets. A TV hangs suspended from the ceiling, showing real-time footage of the big-top grounds.

  A tall, lanky guy stands up from one of the two desks. He looks like he’s a few years older than me, and is just as slender as Red is rotund. “And what have you brought me today, dear cousin?” He grabs my hand, shakes it, and holds it longer than necessary. “I don’t get to see too many beautiful girls on the road.” He tsks, his beady eyes darting to Cherry. “The carnival really isn’t for the pretty.”