I couldn't exactly tattle, 'cause Joey was right there putting up with it like it was nothing, but by the time we parked I was spitting mad.
“I hate them Diamond Dogs!” I whispered to Joey on the walk over.
“Easy, brother,” he whispered back. “Them that lives by the nettle, dies by it, too.”
“Huh?”
“We'll get 'em back.”
“How?”
“Don't know yet, Rusty-boy, but we'll figure some thing.”
That something happened in the third inning. Mama'd flagged Sissy down about six times already and was starting to give away popcorn and Cokes when Joey snapped his fingers and whispered, “I got it.”
“What?”
He cocked his head. “Let's go.”
So I told Mama and Dad we'd be walking around for a bit, then followed Joey out of the bleachers and around back behind the scorekeepers' tower. “Whatcha cooked up?” I asked him.
“Simple,” he whispered. “You been watchin' 'em, right?”
“Who?”
“Them Diamond Dolls!”
“Uh, sorta …”
“Well, look. They carry all that stuff around their necks, right?”
“Sure …”
“Have you noticed how they carry their own drinks, too?”
“What do you mean?”
“To keep from dehydratin' in the sun! They got their own cup they keep sipping from right on the tray with the others.”
“They drink from the same one every time?”
“Rusty-boy, come on! They're not gonna go and get lipstick on someone else's cup. They'd get fired!”
“Yeah, right, of course.”
“So here's the plan—we'll catch us a couple of beetles or something, and when Jenna Mae and Amanda Jane take a break—”
“When's that gonna be?”
“How should I know? They gotta pee sometime, don't they?”
“Yeah, but—”
“And they can't lug those things into the rest rooms with 'em, right?”
“Right, but—”
“So we'll just wait until they take a break, then slip a bug or two into their Cokes.”
“But—”
“Trust me, Rusty! It'll work great. They'll be drinking along, getting down to ice, and then they'll see 'em— black and crawly and dead, or maybe still creepin' around! Then they'll freak and probably send all the Cokes and popcorn flyin'. It'll be spectacular!”
My head wasn't too keen on the idea, but my ankles were all for it. So we started hunting for bugs, turning over rocks and checking under trash bins. And boy! We found some great ones. So many that we started trading up, ditching little ones for bigger ones.
Joey decided he'd get a napkin to keep them all tied up in, and pretty soon the napkin was plumped way out with bugs. So I asked him, “Why so many, Joey? We only really need two, right?”
“Yeah, but … I figure more'n one per cup is good insurance. What if they swallow one whole and never even know it's there? That'd be a whole lot of bother for nothing.”
I looked in the napkin, thinking there were only about two you could swallow down whole, but I didn't say anything. I just nodded.
Then Joey grabbed my shoulder and said, “Quick, back here!”
So we hid around the tower and watched as Sissy and Amanda Jane peeled off their trays and put them on the ground by the side of the concession booth. And when they headed for the rest rooms, Joey snorted and said,“Lucky for us those two do every little thing together. You stand guard, I'll plant the bugs. Let's go!”
So we raced over, and I stood facing out, making the best body screen I could while Joey planted the bugs. And when we heard a rest room door start to squeak open, we streaked off quicker than cats from a hose.
“Is it gonna work?” I asked when we were safe.
“I don't know! They were clingin' to the ice. They wouldn't go down.”
“But Coke'll kill 'em, won't it? I heard it kills about anything. Then they'll drop, right?”
“They'd better!”
We hurried back to where Mama and Dad were sitting, then smiled at them real big and asked, “What's the score?”
“Score?” Mama asked me, then turned to Dad. “Jimmy? You know the score?”
“Eight-zip.”
“We're losing?” Mama asked.
“We always lose, Deb.” He turned to her and shook his head. “Can you explain to me again why we come to these games?”
“To be supportive,” Mama told him, then whispered, “and to help Jenna through this phase she's goin' through.” She looked high and low a minute, then flagged a bill in the air at Sissy, who was coming up the steps.
Sissy rolled her eyes but came over. Only this time she actually said something. “Daddy,” she whined, “how much Coke you gonna let her drink? Ain't you worried she'll drown?”
“Watch your tongue, Jenna Mae,” he told her. “And while you're watchin' it, make it two.”
“You want another one, too?”
“Yes, ma'am,” he said with a frown. Then he looked at me. “How about you and Joey?”
Now I was about to say, “Sure,” 'cause all that bug huntin' had worked up a wicked thirst. But then I noticed Joey's eyes, big as baseballs, his head shaking in his collar like a rattler's tail. So I said, “Uh, no sir. No, thank you.”
And while Sissy's handing the Cokes over to Mama and Dad, Joey's face is all frantic, trying to tell me some thing.
“What?” I whispered.
He just kept on twitching at the face.
“What?” I asked again, only then it clicked. He hadn't put bugs in just Sissy and Amanda Jane's drinks. He'd put them in all the cups on their trays.
My eyes shot back and forth. From my parents to my sister. From my parents to my sister. And when I was sure no one was looking, I mouthed, “Bugs?”
He nodded.
When Sissy took off, I whispered, “Why?”
“Didn't want 'em to go to waste!”
I turned to Mama. She was sipping from her Coke. So was Dad. I whipped back around to Joey. “What are we gonna do?”
He shrugged and gave me a loopy grin. “They're not poison …”
My heart was beating double time. I watched Mama take a sip. Then another. And another. Dad, too.
I tried looking in the cup. Nothing on top. I thought about swatting at a phony gnat and knocking the cup out of Mama's hand. Thought about standing up and falling over, creatin' some sort of diversion or some thing.
But before I could figure out what to do, Dad spit into his hand and said, “There's a confounded bug in my drink!”
Mama said, “Oh, Jimmy. A little bug never hurt any thing,” but then she saw the shell and soggy legs and said, “Eeeew.”
Dad leaned forward and poured the Coke out between the bleacher slats, real slow and steady. And when he was down to just ice he showed Mama the cup. “I told you she didn't want us here.”
I looked, too. Two more bugs.
“Jenna wouldn't do such a thing … !” Mama said.
He took her Coke and drained it off between the slats, then handed it to her without a word.
“Oh!” Mama said, staring at the bugs in her cup. “Why … I can't imagine—”
Dad stood up and handed Mama the car keys. “You can stay if you want. I'm walking home.”
“But, Jimmy—”
“I've had it with her, Deb, and I'm afraid of what I might say if I see her again before I cool off.”
Mama let the keys drop in her hands and watched Dad storm down the bleachers and out of the park. And she did a lot of blinking at the bugs in her cup but didn't utter one word.
Finally, she got up and said, “I think we should be getting home, Russell.”
“Uh … Joey and me'll just walk.”
“You sure?” she asked, real distracted.
“Uh-huh. We want to watch the game.”
“All right, then. If you're sure.”
The m
inute she was gone, we took off on foot. And we were almost out of the park when the screaming started. Folks in the bleachers were freaking out and spilling stuff everywhere, and Sissy and Amanda Jane were running around all over the place.
I don't know how many folks actually swallowed bugs, and how many only found them, but I do know that that was the last day Sissy and Amanda Jane got to be Diamond Dolls. They got fired on the spot, 'cause according to their adviser, the condition of their Cokes was inexcusable.
'Course Sissy and Amanda Jane both accused us of being behind the bugs and hated us extra hard after that,but we swore up and down that we hadn't done it, and there wasn't a thing they could do to prove it.
Except maybe get one of us to fess up, but that was hopeless. Joey and me'd made a pact on the walk home.
Another secret, sealed for life.
3
SWAPPIN' TO AVOID A SWITCHIN'
So my family and Joey's were alike in a lot of ways. But looking back on it, it seems we were similar in ways that didn't matter, and different in ways that did.
Not different like Joey having a baby sister while I didn't. Different deeper down than that. Though Joey's little sister was something else.
Joey said Rhonda was like a booger that you couldn't flick off, but I thought she was cute. Shoot, her being a girl with only one name was enough right there to make me like her. But it was more the way she was always so happy to see me that I liked. She'd squeal, “Russy!” any time I'd walk through the door, then patter over and jump up and down. “Horsey! Horsey!”
So I'd give her horsey rides all over the house, kickin' and neighin' and acting like a crazy wild mustang. And of course Amanda Jane would turn her nose up and head for our house, but Mrs. Banks didn't seem to mind the racket, and Mr. Banks just turned up the TV and drowned us out.
Then one day after giving Rhonda the best mustang ride ever, I collapsed on my belly and said to Joey's mama,“Ma'am, you really got to get this girl a pony.” Rhonda was bouncing on me, kicking my ribs. “I can't take it no more.”
“A pony? Shoot,” Joey's mama said. “We can't even keep goldfish from dying. How we gonna keep a horse?”
“Horsey, horsey!” Rhonda swung off me and started tugging on her mama's sleeve. “I want a horsey!”
Mrs. Banks rolled her eyes, then stopped and said, “But that reminds me—Joey? Clean out the fishbowl, would you?”
“But, Mama! It's Rhonda's fish, not mine!”
“Joey, you help around this house, just like everyone else.”
“But I just cleaned it!”
“Don't sass your mama!” Mr. Banks yelled from over by the TV.
“But I just did it. Yesterday!”
Joey's dad slammed down his beer and was out of his easy chair in a flash, heading straight for Joey. “Then why do them fish keep on dyin'?”
“It ain't my fault!” Joey said.
“It ain't my fault, sir,” his dad corrected him.
Joey was backing away. “It ain't my fault, sir.”
“Then whose fault is it? The fish?”
“Well … yes. Yes, sir.”
Mr. Banks scowled at him. “Yes, sir?” He sucked in air, and his belly seemed to lift right into his chest. “Don't you make me open a can of whup-ass on you, boy. You go clean that bowl, and make it sparkle. And the next time a fish dies around here, I'm holdin' you responsible. You hear me?”
“But—”
“Do you hear me, boy?”
Joey cowered. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. 'Cause from this minute on, every fish that dies earns you a lickin'.”
“But—”
Mr. Banks gave him the most shrivelin' look I'd ever seen.
“Yes, sir,” Joey choked out.
Joey's mama went up to his dad and whispered, “Bobby, maybe we should talk about this some …?”
“What's there to say?” he growled at her. “You want him to help out, he's helpin' out. End of discussion.”
So while Joey's dad went back to his easy chair and Joey's mama took Rhonda into the kitchen, Joey and me shuffled down to the bathroom to clean the fishbowl.
“I ain't heard him mad like that before,” I whispered when we were out of earshot.
Joey snickered. “That was nothin'.”
Now, it's funny. You go through life thinking people are pretty much alike. That the folks on your left are pretty much like the folks on your right, and that they're all pretty much the same as you. And you reckon that what goes on inside your house is pretty much what's going on inside every house on the street.
But hearing Joey's dad yell like that made the whole inside of Joey's house feel different. Strange. And I could tell it made Joey feel strange, too, but I couldn't tell if that was because I was there to hear it or if it would've felt strange to him regardless. So I tried to ease the strain a little by saying, “My dad gets pretty fried at me some times, too.”
“Yeah?” he said, and he sounded hopeful.
“Real fried,” I said, trying to remember the last time Dad had yelled at me.
“Does he make you get your own switch?”
“Yeah,” I lied.
“Hurts like hell.”
“No kiddin'.”
The bathroom light was already on, and there were little blue streaks of toothpaste smeared all over the counter. “That stupid Rhonda,” Joey said, taking a worn washcloth to the toothpaste. “I catch it for this all the time, too.”
“Just tell him it's Rhonda's.”
“He don't care.”
“Well, try tellin' him when he ain't heated.”
“It'll just get him heated.”
Then I noticed the goldfish bowl. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” he said, wiping down the sink.
I closed the door tight.
“What you doin'?”
I pointed to the fish, floating on top. “It's already dead.”
“It can't be.” Joey hung his face over the bowl. “Maaaaan!”
“Just tell him. It can't be your fault … you just got here. And look—the water's clean as can be.”
Joey shook his head. “Don't matter what I tell him, he don't listen.”
We stared at the fish, all bug-eyed on his side.
“What're we gonna do?” I asked him.
“Flush it.”
“And then what?”
“Shoot, I don't know. Get another?”
“How?”
Joey scratched his head. “You up for a hike?”
“I reckon we better run.”
So we did. Out the back door, around the blackberry bushes, behind the neighbor's yard, then down Pickett Lane and clear into town. And when we got to Wet Pets all out of breath and sweaty, Joey didn't even slow down. He just jingled through the door and headed straight for the goldfish tank, where there was a sign boasting, SALE: 25¢
“Afternoon,” said the man behind the cash register, and after a minute he made his way out to us. “After a wet pet?”
There must've been a zillion goldfish in the tank, some brown, some spotted, and some pure orange. “That one,” Joey said, tapping on the glass.
The man laughed. “Can't guarantee I can catch that pa'ticular one, but—”
“Oh, no, sir,” Joey said, all wide-eyed. “It's gotta be that one.”
“Which one?”
“That one right there,” he said, tapping like crazy.
So the man lowered in a net and caught about six others before snagging the right one.
“That's it!” Joey said.
The man freed the fish in a baggie of water and tied it off. “Need food? A bowl? Rocks? Maybe a little sea grass?”
“Got everything we need!” Joey said, slapping down a quarter.
We charged out of there, jostling that goldfish the whole way back. And when we slipped it in the bowl, its little brain must've been mighty scrambled 'cause it spun around like crazy for a few minutes before settling in.
Joey shook in some f
ood and whispered, “Live, you stupid thing, live!”
Two days later we were charging back to Wet Pets.
“I don't get it,” Joey said on the run home. “What am I doin' wrong?”
“Got me,” I said. “I think you'd have better luck with a horse.”
Rhonda noticed, all right, only she didn't understand what she was noticing. “Oh, look! Goldilocks grew an extra spot!”
“Where?” Joey said, looking in the bowl. “Where?”
“Right there! On her tail!”
“You sure?”
“Uh-huh.”
Two days later, Goldi was floating on her side.
“Shoot!” Joey cried, and this time he got himself two fish—one new Goldi and one backup Goldi.
“Where you gonna keep the backup?” I asked him.
“Under the bed.”
“You can't keep doin' this forever.”
“You want to take my switchin'?”
“Just talk to him about it.”
“Dad don't talk, Rusty, he switches and he yells.”
“But—”
“Don't even,” he said, stopping me. “It only makes things worse.”
So I let it be. But it didn't seem fair. Not fair at all. And it bugged me that I couldn't do something about it.
So one night at supper I asked Dad, “How come Joey and me are friends, and Sissy and Amanda Jane are friends, but you and Mama don't ever do nothin' with their parents?”
“Don't ever do anything,” Mama corrected.
Dad was just studying me from across the table, so I added, “Lots of folks get together for barbeque. Maybe sit on the porch? The river's right there, why don't you and Joey's dad ever go fishin' together?” I turned to Mama. “Or shoppin'. Lots of ladies do that.”
Mama looked at her plate; Dad looked straight at me, bobbing his head a little. Finally he said, “Adults tend to get caught up in the running of their families.”
“But … we could run our families together, or something.”
He just stared at me.
“From time to time?”
“Would you like that?” Mama asked.
I shrugged. “Joey might.”
“Well, I wouldn't,” Sissy said.
Dad looked her over a minute. “Why's that, Jenna Mae?”
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