Stirring Up Trouble

by Juli Alexander

  He was very quiet, so I looked up from the dresser I was dusting.

  He tugged at his Bob the Builder shirt and looked at me with wide eyes.

  “What kinda bumps?” he asked in a whisper.

  Apparently, he wasn’t ready for the realities of being a teenager. “Oh, I was just kidding,” I said. “My cat scratched me, just like you thought.”

  I don’t think he bought it. I don’t even lie well enough to fool a four-year-old. I’m such a loser.

  The third house had obviously been cleaned already. The bathrooms smelled of Pine Sol. Either, the mom was a neat freak or she couldn’t stand anyone seeing her dirt. Whatever. As long as I did enough to lose the chin hairs from hell, I really didn’t care.

  The fourth mother had two boys and two girls. When I finished the last bathroom, I closed and locked the door. Holding my breath, I slowly peeled the adhesive bandage back. My three little friends were gone. Whew.

  It had worked. All that cleaning was worth it. I did a little dance of celebration and called Mom to pick me up.

  “So, did they try to pay you?” Mom asked, when I hopped in the car.

  “Yep. Every last one of them.” I could have used the money, but that would have ruined all the work. “I told them to send a check to the domestic violence shelter if they wanted.”

  She turned to me with a smile. “You’re a good girl, you know that?”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, Mom. It’s a good thing I’m going to medical school, because being a cleaning lady is way too much work!”

  She shook her head as if she weren’t sure what to do with me. “Should we go out for dinner?”

  “I’m beat.” I pushed my seat back to recline. “And I need a shower before the game.”

  “Okay,” Mom said. She glanced at her watch. “You cleaned for seven hours. No wonder you’re tired.”

  Dad really wanted me to go to Sheree’s for the game, and I managed to talk Camille into going with me. The shower had done wonders.

  Dad and I picked Camille up on our way. I hopped out to ring the doorbell.

  “Thanks so much.” I told her when she answered.

  “No prob,” she said, grabbing her orange purse and closing the door behind her. “It might be fun.”

  “Fun?” I really doubted it.

  She blushed a little, and I realized she was probably looking forward to seeing Jake. Even if she did end up marrying him and living happily ever after, I wanted someone to hang out with tonight. I’d just have to deal with it.

  “That’s right,” I said narrowing my eyes. “You have a crush on somebody.”

  Now, she turned beet red which was not flattering considering she wore a Volunteer-orange cardigan. “Shh. Your dad will hear you.”

  “It’s okay. He won’t say anything to Jake.”

  She smiled, revealing those dimples I so envied. “Oh, it’s not Jake.”

  Oh, thank God! “It’s not?”

  “No.”

  “If you think you’re going to get away with not telling me, you’re so wrong. You’re at my mercy. I could tell Dad to kidnap you.”

  She snorted. “Like he would. Mr. Sensible Scientist.” She lowered her voice and looked around as if someone would be eavesdropping on her front lawn. “It’s Kent.”

  “Kent Carmichael?” He was shy and reserved, not at all like the outgoing Camille.

  “Shut up!”

  “Sorry. I had no clue.”

  “Obviously.” She smoothed her denim mini skirt.

  I so envied her legs. Kickboxing six days a week.

  “Just get in the car.”

  I climbed in the back with Camille even though I knew it was rude. Dad let me get away with it, but he hates being a chauffeur.

  After Dad said hi and Camille answered his questions politely, we got back to our conversation.

  “Since when,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “Since when have you liked him,” I hissed in a whisper.

  She shrugged, tossing her straight, dark hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know. A month or so, I guess.”

  “Does he know?”

  “No!” She acted as if Kent knowing would be the worst thing imaginable.

  “Does anybody know?”

  “No. Well, you, now. That’s it.”

  “So what is it that you like about him?”

  “I don’t know.” She got that dreamy girlie look in her big brown eyes. “He’s just so cute.”

  Kent Carmichael? I mean, he was okay, but Camille could do a lot better. Jake, better.

  I thought about Kent for a minute. He was kinda cute. Just so quiet. I didn’t really notice him much. Of course, I was too busy noticing Jake.

  “If he knew you liked him, he’d ask you out in a heartbeat.”

  Camille shook her head. “I’m not ready to tell him.”

  “I could tell him.” I braced myself for a good smack.

  She restrained herself. “No way. I’m not doing that whole seventh-grade, my friend likes you do you like her, thing.”

  I didn’t really blame her. “But sometimes it works.”

  “Not. Going. To Happen.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “Good.”

  “He’ll probably be at Jake’s though, don’t you think?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it,” she said, but she couldn’t do it without smiling because she was totally lying.

  “No wonder I talked you into coming so fast.”

  She laid a hand on my arm. ”I just wanted some Zoe and Camille time.”

  I tried to snort but couldn’t. “I should be furious with you.”

  “But you won’t. Because,” she lowered her voice, “you’ll be drooling over Jake the whole time anyway, so what do you care if I’m preoccupied with Kent.”

  “Girls,” Dad called from the front seat. “I don’t mind driving you around like a couple of teenage rock stars, but the whispering and giggling are really more than I can take.”

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Miller.”

  Camille and I followed Dad into Jake’s house. The décor had changed from classy to the overdone Orange and White that true Tennessee fans expected, and yes they should be capitalized because Orange and White are like living personalities around here.

  Sheree, clad in an expensive UT cardigan with Vols propaganda all over it, said hi and then asked where my Orange was.

  “I wore White,” I pointed to my plain t-shirt.

  “Zoe likes to be different,” Dad said.

  “Dad!” Just because I didn’t want to look like the other half million people in Knoxville today wearing Orange didn’t mean he had to say that, out loud!

  Camille jumped in to save me. “We’re together. See.” She motioned to her sweater and mine. “Orange and White.”

  Sheree had moved on. To my father’s lips, where she planted a quick kiss.

  Barf!

  “I think you know everybody, John.” She took his hand and we followed into the kitchen and family room. “Girls, Jake and his ‘buds’ are upstairs. I’m sure they’ll be right down.”

  In the meantime, Camille and I got to meet Sheree’s “buds.” Every last one of them wore orange and white with UT logos. And one of them had the cutest little girl. She was probably three, and they’d dressed her in a miniature UT cheerleader outfit.

  The kitchen was open to the living room, and snacks covered the island. Sheree had laid out everything from chips and salsa to cupcakes slathered with orange icing. Yum.

  “Cupcakes,” Camille sighed. “I love cupcakes.”

  “Really?” I made sure the adults had all moved toward the big screen TV at the other end of the room. “I thought you loved Kent.”

  This time, she did smack me.

  “Ouch!” I rubbed my arm. “I didn’t know kickboxing gave you arm muscles too.”

  “Do you want to call a truce? Or should we just embarrass each other for the next three hours?�
��

  “Truce.” My arm still hurt. “I’m going to have a bruise!”

  “Should we sit down?”

  I looked around. “No. Let’s wait until the guys get down here. Then, we can figure out where we want to be. Unless you just came for the game?”

  “I don’t really like football, anyway.”

  “Football’s okay. The whole rah-rah team spirit thing gets annoying.”

  Speaking of team spirit, Jake and his friends pounded down the stairs like a herd of elephants. I thought there’d be at least eight of them, but when they turned the corner, it was just Jake, Kent, Eli, and Alex.

  “Hey, Eli,” Camille said. “Is Alicia coming?”

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “She had to go to the game with her dad.”

  “Hey guys,” Jake said.

  I guess me and Camille were guys tonight.

  “Oh, man!” Alex grabbed a bowl of chips and the guacamole. “Your mom made guac!”

  Camille and I stood there, sipping our soft drinks while the guys sucked down about half the food. They never stopped talking or moving, but somehow they managed to eat a ton of snacks.

  My dad wandered back to us after a while. “The game’s starting guys. Can you see from back here?”

  “Kickoff!” Eli yelled.

  “Dude,” Alex replied, grabbing another can of coke and scrambling toward the adults and the TV.

  There were only five adults and the tiny tot besides Dad and Sheree, but they seemed to fill up all the sofas. Eli and Alex headed for the floor close to the television.

  I really hoped Jake and Kent wouldn’t sit up there too. Camille and I couldn’t get away with sneaking looks at the guys if all the adults were behind us.

  Jake eyed Camille’s miniskirt. I was getting peeved until he pulled out the bar chairs and dragged them over behind the couch.

  So he was being considerate instead of lecherous. I hoped.

  Kent and I each grabbed one of the remaining chairs and arranged them in line with Jake’s. Kent ended up by the wall with Jake beside him. I managed to sit by Jake with Camille on my other side.

  Our team scored almost immediately. The little cheerleader obviously didn’t know what was going on, but when everyone got excited and started cheering, she waved her shakers around and jumped up and down.

  A few groans quickly followed, until Tennessee intercepted the ball. They made small gains on a couple of plays.

  One of the men had to comment on everything. “If the quarterback had seen the tight end, we’d be up by fourteen.”

  If he started yelling at the referees, I was out of there.

  A few minutes later, the preschooler got bored with the game and wandered back to us. She tugged on Camille’s skirt. “What’s your name?”

  Camille answered. “And what’s yours?”

  She mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

  Camille leaned down to listen and the girl repeated her name.

  “Oh,” Camille said, “Peyton. That’s a very pretty name.”

  Made perfect sense considering how into the game her parents were. Peyton Manning had been huge as a quarterback at UT. Fans still worshipped him. I couldn’t count how many boys and girls I’d met named Peyton.

  Camille motioned to me. “Peyton, this is my friend Zoe.”

  “Hi,” Peyton said in her little preschooler voice.

  “Do you know Jake and Kent?” Camille asked.

  Peyton nodded. She smiled up at Jake.

  Her mother must have been watching because she interjected, “Peyton told me she’s going to marry Jake when she grows up. He’s always so good with her.”

  I glanced down at the little girl. Wasn’t that cute? But it was so not going to happen. I laughed inwardly. How sad that I was jealous of a three-year-old.

  “Peyton’s my favorite girlfriend,” Jake said.

  Okay. That did it.

  The little girl beamed at Jake’s comment. I felt his gaze on me and turned.

  He winked.

  My heart melted. “You’re so sweet,” I said.

  Kent groaned. “Jake, you get all the girls. Even the cheerleaders.”

  Peyton giggled.

  I couldn’t help myself. “Well, not all the girls, Kent. Right, Camille?”

  Camille couldn’t smack me. She froze obviously trying not to draw attention to herself. But I knew I’d pay later.

  “Then, again, Zoe,” Camille said. “Jake does seem to get the attention of a lot of girls. Doesn’t he? Zoe?”

  Okay, so I’d pay now.

  Jake turned back to the game to avoid acknowledging that comment. Kent blushed. Camille hadn’t really embarrassed me because Jake already knew about my crush. And he’d moved past it. Besides, my comment about Camille could only help, if Kent wasn’t too oblivious to catch it.

  Watching the game was very much a group activity. I knew I wouldn’t get any time alone with Jake. And I couldn’t even stare at him since he was next to me. I liked being anywhere near him, though. So it was cool.

  At halftime, everyone ran for the refreshments. The guys went out back to toss around a football. I guess the game raised their testosterone levels. Jake did take time to show Camille his room. She loved it, of course.

  Rumpled and a little sweaty, the guys came in to watch the second half. This time, Camille managed to sit by Kent and I was stuck on the end. I didn’t mind. Too much.

  After the Vols won by two touchdowns, Sheree’s friends started heading out. Dad was straightening up the kitchen, an activity that was a little too domestically intimate for my comfort. Alex’s mother picked up him and Eli.

  “Dad,” I said softly, handing him some empty glasses to load in the dishwasher. “Maybe we should offer Kent a ride home.”

  Distracted, he answered, “Sure, hon. Whatever you think.”

  Kent and Jake were taking out the trash. I opened the back door. “Hey Kent, we can give you a ride if you want.”

  Kent turned scarlet. Shy people should never have red hair.

  Jake turned to hide his smile.

  Kent didn’t have much choice. “Sure. Thanks.”

  When we walked to the car later, I called the front seat. “It is my dad’s car,” I said snottily. I never would have behaved that way normally, but I had an agenda.

  Camille’s icy glare should have frozen me.

  Even Dad seemed to catch on finally, because he smiled.

  Camille and Kent climbed into the back seat.

  The ride to Kent’s was pretty quiet. But Camille got to ride in the backseat of the car with the guy she had a crush on, so I considered the night a success.

  When I got home, she’d already sent me three emails. They weren’t friendly. I saved them in case I ever needed to cuss someone out, but I didn’t bother to reply.

  She didn’t mean it.

  Probably.

  Chapter Nine

  On Sunday morning, Anya’s call woke me at ten. Her grandmother had pneumonia again. I loved her grandmother. She was just the sweetest thing.

  “Can you bring her some more of your mom’s chicken soup?” Anya asked. “Last time it really worked.”

  “Sure.” I’d told her it was an old family recipe. In reality it was Campbell’s soup with extra chicken and a few drops of one of my better potions. As long as no one knew the recipe contained slime from a toad, I’d stay out of trouble. And the potion really worked, so I doubted her grandmother would mind even if she knew.

  “Thanks, Zoe. I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk about Jake.” She paused, then said in a rare but unconvincing tone of concession, “I think you’re right.”

  “About what?”

  “You know,” she said in a singsong voice. “That I still care about him.”

  Well, that was the worst possible answer. “Oh. What about Brad?”

  Anya sighed. “I’m really not sure I like him as much as I thought I did.”

  “Hang on, Anya,” I said. I carefully set my cell on the desk, we
nt over to the wall, and beat my head against it four times. How much trouble had I gone to and now she didn’t even like Brad?

  I went over to get the phone again. “Anya, I’ll call back after I talk to Mom.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “Bye.” I disconnected and fell onto my bed. Could nothing go my way?

  “Mom, Anya’s driving me nuts,” I yelled, stomping down the stairs. There was no sign of her in the living room. “Mom!” I continued on to the kitchen.

  She sat at the kitchen island sketching a design for the next show. She didn’t look up, but I knew she’d heard me coming. She always tried to squeeze out those extra few seconds before I totally blew her train of thought.

  “Anya’s grandmother has pneumonia, so I need to make her some of ‘your chicken soup.’”

  Mom’s head snapped up. “She’s sick again? That’s not good.”

  “No. But the soup’ll take care of her.” I grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge.

  “Have you got all the ingredients for the potion?”

  “All except the soup to put it in. Do we have any?”

  Mom capped her expensive designer marker and came around to help me search the cabinets.

  No luck.

  “Okay,” Mom said, grabbing her car keys and purse from the kitchen counter. “I’ll run to the store. You work on the potion.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I called after her.

  Then I got down to business. First, I pulled out the cast iron pot and set it on high heat on the gas stove. I measured in two cups of water. The dry ingredients were no big deal, but nausea rolled through my stomach as I uncapped the bottle of toad slime. We really needed to find a feasible substitute. Most toads actually have dry skin. Since we can only harvest from a few species, the slime is expensive.

  Toad slime was an essential ingredient in hundreds of potions. We ordered it off the Internet. The slime was marketed as cellulite cream. I felt sorry for anyone who bought it by accident. Although, for all I knew, the stuff worked as cellulite cream too.

  I rang Anya’s doorbell an hour later. Mom had driven me the two miles to her house. I hoped she’d answer quickly because the Pyrex bowl of soup was heavy and awkward.

  “Thank God!” Anya said, opening the door almost immediately. “Let’s go.”