“It’s not fancy.” Nana apologized. “But it’s clean—except the footprints, those weren’t there when I woke up, so they must have just happened.”
The lady from Child Protective Services was a tall woman, neither young nor old, with an athletic build and not bad looking. Glory despised her and was in awe of her at the same time. She wasn’t afraid of anything, including Dad. Turning on her heel, she sent Dad a stare that could melt granite. Crenshaw ignored Nana and gave a long drawn out sniff.
“This house smells like booze and it’s barely morning, Mr. Alley. I knew it was only a matter of time before I was called back here.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. His face turned pink. Nana pressed the flat of her hand against his chest wordlessly warning him to keep his temper in check.
“Where are the rest of the children?” Miss Crenshaw demanded to know.
Glory froze—if Miss Crenshaw saw the fresh welts on her back, they’d all be taken away, scattered across Tullah, maybe to never to be a family again.
Glory whispered urgently to her siblings “Dad whipped me. I’m sure it left marks.”
The sound of the school bus rumbling down the road got their attention.
“Hurry, Glory,” Brandon whispered, urging her toward the back door. “If Crenshaw sees the rest of us are fine maybe she won’t come looking for you at school.”
“But my backpack.” she pointed to her bare feet. “And my shoes.”
“There isn’t time,” Brandon said, handing Glory her backpack.
“Run, Glory,” Danny said.
“Don’t let them break us apart,” Randy added.
Glory looked to the grim faces of her brothers. And there was George in his booster seat playing with his food. When he saw her look at him, he gave a big smile.
Brandon placed a hand on her shoulder, “Our fate is in your hands.”
Glory understood. She grabbed a ratty cardigan off a hook on the way out the kitchen door and ran around the house through the soggy front yard. The gravel lane tore at her bare soles as she sprinted toward the bus. She struggled to put on the sweater as she ran away from Miss Crenshaw.
The bus driver, Mrs. Spud, hit the brakes when she saw her and opened the doors. Panting hard, Glory climbed into the vehicle, flushed and closing the sweater shut with one hand.
“My, my,” Mrs. Spud said, eying her up and down, lingering on her bare feet. “Aren’t we eager to get to school today?”
“I was running late and didn’t want you drive off without me.”
Mrs. Spud looked at her watch, then back to the Alley house, which sat far from the road. Her face became quizzical at the sight of a squad car parked in the driveway.
“Don’t worry,” Glory reassured. “I have gym shoes in my locker.”
Mrs. Spud studied her a moment. “If you’re sure everything is okay…”
“I’m sure, ma’am.”
“All righty then, move on back.”
Matthew Cloude with the dark hair and slate blue eyes looked directly at her and smirked. A handsome kid a couple grades ahead of her, and captain of the Sling Team, he had a big ego. School gossip said he’d traveled all over the world before moving to Cloverdale because his father was some sort of diplomat. Why they had chosen to settle in an uneventful little town like Cloverdale was anybody’s guess.
All the sling players, including Matthew, wore their boards strapped across their backs. Glory thought slingboards looked like dead fish floating on their sides. Guys who could afford top of the line boards like that didn’t smile at girls like Glory. Whatever he was up to, Glory wanted no part of it.
His eyebrows arched when he noticed her feet. “Primitive,” he said in a condescending, but flirty way. “Me like.”
His friends all snickered.
“Go jump in the creek,” she snarled.
“Whoa,” one of his sling team buddies said. “It must be somebody’s time of the month.”
Glory’s mouth puckered in indignation, but she ignored the comment and continued toward the middle of the bus to slide in beside Clash. His ever curious expression was even more so this morning as he noticed her lack of footwear. Mrs. Spud grinded the gears and sent the bus lurching forward down the road again. Glory sat there, catching a breath, glancing back at the house, but Clash was too preoccupied with her bare feet to notice the squad car. Good—at least she wouldn’t have to explain.
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Uh, how on Tullah did you forget your shoes?”
She shrugged.
Clash glanced at the puppy covered bottoms and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Are those pajamas?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
His chuckled stopped abruptly. Worry spread across his thin face.
“This isn’t related to what happened at the mesa? I mean you’re feeling better. And aren’t…er… seeing things—are you?”
“I’m not seeing things,” She hissed. “This has nothing to do with the mesa.”
“That’s relief.” Clash produced his Sliver, unfolded it, and shook it under Glory’s nose. “How about a round of Space Raiders?”
“No thank you,” Glory said, eying the Sliver’s high definition screen. “Hey, do you have any data access minutes left?”
“A few, but I need them for a science paper.”
She sighed. Most kids didn’t have to track every single free government minute the way Clash and Glory did, because once they ran out, they simply bought more.
“The new month starts next week—can it wait?”
“Do I have a choice?” Being poor bit the big one. “What do you know about the legend of Queen’s Mesa?”
“Only what your Grandpa told me. Come on, Glory, just one more game. I downloaded Princess Gala for you.”
“Princess Gala?” The news perked her up. “I’ve been wanting to try her out a long time now.”
“Here’s your chance.” He waved the Sliver under her nose.
“Aren’t you tired of losing?”
“I laugh in the face of your baseless comment, ha, ha, ha.”
Sometimes Clash acted bizarre, wandering around the classroom at inappropriate times, getting on people’s nerves, but mostly he was fun.
“You do know I’m the Space Raider Champion of yesterday, today and tomorrow,” Glory reminded.
“Not anymore,” Clash smiled, offering the Sliver. “I’ve already beat your highest score. See.”
Glory snatched it out of her hands. “Gimme that.” She bent the Sliver’s screen to a forty-five degree angle, then pressed the high score button. The number at the top of the display flashed. Clash had exceeded her top score by seven hundred points. Sticking the tip of her tongue out the corner of her mouth, Glory got busy, sending photon torpedoes into the side of an alien cargo ship.
Olivia Wingfield sat in the seat in front of them and turned around to watch the game. With violet eyes, and silky yellow hair down to her waist, Glory thought she was the prettiest girl in school, maybe in all of Cloverdale. If Glory could choose to look like anyone in the world, Olivia would be at top of the list, but her snooty personality left something to be desired.
However, the Queen of Snooty was Mandy Filmore, an upper classman who sat a couple of seats behind them. Worse than being snooty was the fact that Ted Filmore was her uncle. Normally Mandy didn’t ride the bus. Rumor had it this was punishment for driving her father’s car without permission.
Both Olivia and Mandy were cruel and probably heartless. That didn’t stop the boys from falling all over themselves in their presence. Even Clash got tongue-tied on occasion.
Other girls wanted to be like Olivia and Mandy, or at least be in their inner circle, hoping their popularity would somehow rub off on them. Glory wondered how life might be different if she and Olivia’s elementary school friendship had blossomed. When they were little they did play dates, and up until Mom died, the two of them were best friends.
Now they barely knew ea
ch other. A twinge of regret passed through her, but oh well. She pretended to be unaware of Olivia’s attention while her own trusty fingers pressed the Sliver’s buttons.
“Version four is out and you’re playing with version two?” Olivia said with her nose in the air. “That’s sad.”
The smile on Clash’s face faded. Glory knew he had spent last summer pulling weeds from the field, toiling under the hot afternoon sun day after day, earning money to buy a Sliver. Kids like Olivia and Mandy who lived in the fancy homes on the hillside never had to earn anything. Everything was simply handed to them. Glory resented that very much.
“I’ve played version four,” Glory said. “But I don’t care what everybody else says, version two is better.”
“Really?” Clash seemed pleased.
“Yep,” Glory lied.
“Version four has extra levels and it’s a lot harder,” Olivia said to Glory. “I bet I can beat you.”
“I doubt that.”
“Well, come over to my house this Saturday and we’ll see.”
“Hey, Glory,” stuck-up Mandy interrupted from two seats back. “Is it true your family doesn’t own a computer, not even a government-issued one?”
Yes, it was true, but Glory wasn’t about to admit it. Dad’s whacked-out conspiracy theories kept the Alleys in the dark ages and inconvenienced the entire family. A lot of assignments required use of a computer, which meant she often had to stay after school or go to the library in order to use one there. Glory made a mental note to buy a top of the line computer, a RECS, when she found the mother lode.
“Is it true or not?” Mandy persisted.
“They have a RECS,” Clash lied for her. “I’ve seen it myself.”
“Who asked you, Clash?”
“If you have a RECS,” a boy asked. “Then why do I see you at the computer lab so often?”
“She has five brothers and sisters.” Clash rolled his eyes. “Think about it.”
“I know why immigrant boy and his frumpy girlfriend are such good friends,” Mandy said.
“Why is that?” Olivia asked.
“Because smells of a feather flock together.”
“Shut-up!” Clash said, shaking a fist.
“Like I’m scared of a skinny little runt like you and your fatso sidekick. You both stink. Yep, I said it. Like manure.”
“Oink, oink,” a boy added.
“And what’s with that sweater?” Mandy inquired. Glory unconsciously touched the course gray material near her neck. “Looks like rat hair.”
“Looks like mule hair to me.” A boy made a neighing sound and then nibbled on his lower lip with his front teeth. “Probably borrowed it from Bucktooth.”
Clash shrank in the bus seat, knowing they were referring to his large front teeth. Laughter and hee haw noises from the other kids in the area followed.
Clash’s eyes welled as he leaned his head against the window staring at the stubbly fields whizzing by. Glory was normally quiet at school, as she and Clash preferred to keep to themselves, but this morning, anger erupted from the core of her being and had nowhere to go except up.
Fists clenched, Glory stood then marched a couple of paces down the center aisle. She stood square in front of Mandy, who instantly stood at her approach. The girl was a head taller than Glory and wore a superior sneer. She adjusted the collar on her pink leather jacket, which donned the coveted brand name, Ross & Wesson, across the left breast pocket.
“Just because your brothers are bullies, don’t think I’m afraid of you,” boasted Mandy. “I’m trained in the martial arts.” When Mark turned to watch the scene, Mandy tossed back her shiny black hair and puffed out her chest. “The Alleys are nobodies and everybody knows it.”
Mandy’s mother owned and ran the martial arts facility in town, a fact Glory had forgotten until just now. Oops. But, having fought against the likes of Brandon, plus the twins, she was confident of victory. First, she’d tell her off.
“You flippin’ waste of flesh. Don’t talk to my friend that way.” A line of profanity gushed forth like water bursting through a dam, shocking even Glory. Mandy suddenly looked uncertain. All eyes were on the two of them, so neither could back down without losing face.
Mandy adjusted her coat collar. “Nobody talks to me that way.” She raised her palms in an intimidating martial arts stance.
Glory raised her fists in the old-fashioned way, stepping forward to meet her, savoring the thought of pounding something, anything—yes; Mandy’s face would do nicely. Powerful feelings strained at the leash, wanting to tear into pampered flesh.
“C’mon on, Mandy,” Glory encouraged, showing a curled fist. “Let’s see what ya got under that fancy designer coat.”
Pain flashed through Glory’s head. The next thing she saw were black stripes of rubber running over the bus floor.
“That’s what I got under my designer coat,” Mandy replied.
Glory saw little stars circling around her head. Slowly, she pulled herself off the floor, feeling dizzy, holding her mouth. Dang, she hadn’t even seen it coming.
“Too easy,” Mandy laughed sounding delighted. She pointed. “The girl doesn’t even have shoes. And look—she’s wearing her pajamas!”
“Mandy Filmore!” she heard Olivia hiss. “Insults are one thing, but knocking her senseless is another. Glory’s younger and smaller than you.”
“Shorter, but not smaller,” Mandy pointed out. “I bet she outweighs me by thirty pounds.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Boo hoo,” Mandy said. “All mouth and no brains, typical Alley style.”
Fuming, Glory lunged.
The pair of them fell to the ground, but somehow Matthew was there, pulling her off Mandy. Olivia and Clash sandwiched themselves between the two aggressors.
“Ladies,” Matthew said, holding Glory back. “The school has a zero violence policy. Do you want to be sent to a federal opportunity school where you’ll be doing marching drills until your eighteenth birthdays?”
Glory dabbed her lip. Fingers came back bloody. “You threw the only punch, Mandy,” she pointed out. “And I’m the one bleeding, so I’m in the clear. One word from me and it’s federal school for you.”
“That’s true,” Matthew said, looking at Mandy. Matthew and Mandy had been an item at one time, but nobody seemed to know if they still were. “You better say you’re sorry.”
“No way,” Mandy said.
“I got the fight stored right here.” Clash held up his Sliver. “How ‘bout I replay it for the director?”
“Sorry.” Mandy said, rolling her eyes. “Alley.”
“Shove your phony apology where it stinks, Filmore.”
“Take it as a compliment,” Mandy said. “At least I acknowledged your existence.”
“You’re so full of yourself I’m surprised you can breathe.”
“You’re the one who came at me with a bad attitude. Sure, I threw the first punch, but only because it was clear you were determined to battle me. If I’m brought before the director I’ll plead self-defense.”
“Don’t worry,” Glory said, still holding her lip. “I’m not going to say anything. Clash won’t either. We’re not like that.”
“You got spunk, Alley,” Mandy replied, looking relieved. “I suppose that ought to count for something. I won’t say anything either, but don’t think we’re friends.”
“Not if you paid me.”
Mrs. Spud’s voice came over the speaker. “What’s going on back there?” She was eyeing their reflections in the big rectangular mirror mounted over the windshield. “Miss Alley, why are you holding your mouth like that?” The students on the bus all looked to Glory in expectation.
“I tripped and hit the corner of the seat,” Glory said, noticing her front teeth felt loose. She tested all of them. Maybe a little wiggly, but they’d probably tighten up on their own.
Mrs. Spud tsk-tsked, then pointed to the list of rules printed over the windows. “Ru
le number three: No standing in the aisle when the bus is in motion. That’s not there just for decoration. Now everybody please take a seat.”
They did as told, but Glory’s nostrils were still flaring from the humiliation of getting whooped in front of everybody. But the worst part was the realization she’d acted just like her father, down to the falling on her face part.
“Wow, you stood up to the Empress of the School.” Clash whispered, seeming awestruck at Glory’s boldness. Empress was their nickname for the high and might Mandy. Even the teachers bowed at her feet.
“Yeah, for about five seconds.”
“The point is you didn’t back down. And you cussed like Scurvy Sailor in Galactic Heroes, only better, because you weren’t bleeped out by parental controls. Since I got it all on video, do you want me to network it?
“Are you crazy? Why would I want the whole world to see me fall on my face?”
“For evidence.”
“Evidence that I can’t hold my own against a skinny cheerleader? No thank you.”
“They’re plotting our doom you know,” Clash said, stealing a glance over his shoulder at Mandy and her cronies. “Especially yours.”
“I know, I know,” Glory said.
Under ordinary circumstances, she’d be more worried, but Mandy seemed like a fluffy pink bunny compared to Miss Crenshaw. “I have worse witches to worry about right now, so just leave me alone?”
“Sooorrr-ry,” Clash said, acting offended.
Glory didn’t apologize back. Her insides were twisting apart and she didn’t know how much more she could take.
At school, she slipped out of her pajamas and into her gym clothes, which consisted of a plain white T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and smelly blue sneakers. The welts had scabbed to her clothes, bringing tears to her eyes when she changed. Nobody seemed to notice. Or care. Math class was a waste. All she did was silently pray the Alley family would still be intact when she got home.
Language lessons didn’t go much better. Astronomy lost out to her nervous bladder. She had to leave class twice to use the restroom. By the time she returned to the star splattered dome, her nails were bitten to the quick.
Most of the popular kids stayed after school for sports, cheerleading, or some other social activity—so there were usually no hassles on the afternoon bus ride home. Clash had stayed after school for computer club, leaving Glory to stew alone in a cauldron of dark thoughts. She stared out the bus window as they passed the hospital where Mom had died, then at the fancy houses on the outskirts of town her family couldn’t afford, then the fields whizzing by in the country, and finally at Queen’s Mesa in the distance. It stood like an omniscient sentry keeping watch over the whole world. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it until the bus stopped in front of the driveway.
Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series) Page 7