Stirring Up Trouble

by Juli Alexander

  “What’s wrong? Is she worse?” I asked. Anya’s grandmother lived two streets over.

  “No,” Anya glanced over her shoulder.

  Brad bounded into view. “Hi, Zoe,” he said. He motioned to the soup. “I’ll carry that.”

  I allowed him to relieve me of my steaming burden while Anya hissed in my ear, “He won’t leave me alone!”

  Duh. It hit me then. The love potion. Brad was all googly-eyed over Anya.

  I had never intended to drive Anya crazy with the potion, but I couldn’t help grinning when she turned around to grab her jacket.

  Brad nodded to the soup. “Where should I put this, baby?”

  Baby?

  “Don’t call me that,” Anya snapped. She rolled her eyes. “Come on. You can carry it to my grandmother’s for us.”

  “Okey-dokey, Anya.”

  I looked into his eyes. They were dull and flat, like Keanu Reeves’ eyes in movies from the 80’s and 90’s. Not a flicker of intelligence.

  Dear God. He was even dumber when he was in love. I wouldn’t have believed it possible.

  Anya made a gagging gesture at me. “C’mon, Zoe.” She started walking at a fast clip, and I hurried to keep up. Brad stayed a few steps behind like a servant or something.

  “I’ve been trying to get rid of him for hours,” she grumbled.

  “Really?” I asked, wondering if I should feel guilty or something. So Anya had to put up with some irritation. And sure, the whole thing was demeaning for Brad, but he’d always been an arrogant jock, and he could use a little taste of humility.

  We reached Anya’s grandmother’s ranch-style house and walked past her mums and to the front door. Anya’s family didn’t want her to have to leave her home because it meant so much to her. Anya’s parents spent a lot of time helping keep up the yard and the house.

  Anya’s mother opened the door just as we got there.

  “Oh good, Zoe. She’s been asking for that soup. She really believes it works.” Mrs. Moyers made a face as if that was ridiculous.

  “Anything to help, Mrs. Moyers,” I said.

  After my obligatory hug, I continued into the foyer.

  “I see Brad’s still here,” Mrs. Moyers observed to her daughter.

  Anya hummphed and crossed her arms. She typically reacted to her mother that way, but I had a feeling Brad was the intended recipient this time.

  “Hi, Mrs. M,” Brad said. “Where should I put this?”

  Anya’s mom took the soup to the kitchen to fix a bowl for the patient.

  “I’ll help you, Mom,” Anya said.

  “You will?” Her mother sounded flabbergasted at the gesture.

  Anya ordered Brad to “Wait here.”

  She and her mother walked to the kitchen. I stood with Brad wondering if it’d be okay for me to go down the hall and see Anya’s grandmother.

  “Zoe,” Brad said, looking to make sure Anya and her mother were out of sight. “Can you tell me what Anya’s favorite flower is? She won’t tell me.”

  Flowers? Anya’d probably put them down the garbage disposal. “Oh, Brad. You know. I don’t think you should spend your money on flowers.”

  “You don’t know either?” He frowned. “I’ll get one of everything.”

  “No. Uh. Her favorite flowers are peach roses.” At least now he wouldn’t bankrupt himself trying to figure it out.

  Brad smiled.

  I really tried to be nice to him, but then I remembered the “Zoe was always weird” comment. And I felt the devil in me. “Ya know, Brad. Anya just loves poetry.” Anya, of course, hated poetry.

  “Poetry?” he repeated, perking up. “I can do poetry.”

  I really, really doubted it.

  Anya’s mother came back carrying a tray and we followed her and Anya down the hall.

  “Zoe,” Grandmother called from the bed where she was bundled in floral blankets. “Your mother makes the best soup.” A hacking cough interrupted her greeting.

  “No one cooks like you do, Gran,” Anya said.

  I smiled and watched the very pale patient take a few spoonfuls of the soup. Color returned to her lined face.

  “Reminds me of the soup my neighbor made when I was a child,” Grandmother said, easing back on her pillows. “Nothing like it to help you feel better.”

  I nodded. Her neighbor had probably been a distant relative of mine. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “It’s funny, though,” Anya said, plopping down on the bed oblivious to the jarring impact on her grandmother. “Zoe’s mother isn’t that great of a cook otherwise.”

  “She can hold her own,” I offered quickly. “But she can’t compete with your fried okra, Gran.” My father’s parents were always on the road, RV’ing. My other grandmother lived in Ohio, so I had sort of adopted Anya’s as my own. Or rather, she’d adopted me. I loved eating dinner at her house.

  “I’ll cook you dinner as soon as I’m up and around,” Grandmother said. “And you can come, too, Brad.”

  Brad who stood idly by the door, looking uncomfortable to be in a sickroom, but obviously not willing to leave Anya.

  “We’ll make a party of it,” Grandmother said, reaching to take Anya’s hand in hers. Several large jeweled rings drew my eyes to knuckles swollen with arthritis.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Brad said.

  Who knew he could be polite?

  “Not until you’re feeling better, Mother,” Mrs. Moyers said.

  “Sounds great, Grandmother,” I said. “I can’t wait.”

  “Yeah, me either,” Anya muttered.

  This whole Brad in love thing was really bringing out the worst in Anya.

  “Oh, that’s a good idea, Anya.” Anya’s mother tore her eyes away from her patient. “Why don’t we order pizzas back at our house and Brad and Zoe can stay for dinner?”

  “No, Mom. That won’t work.” Anya glowered at her mother. “I have homework.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Anya. You can do that later.”

  “I have tons of homework,” she said, her tone icier. “Unless you don’t want me to get into college.”

  “I have to get home anyway,” I said, jumping in to forestall the inevitable conflict. Anya and her mother had zero insight into each other.

  “Whatever,” Anya’s mother said, using Anya’s favorite term. She turned her attention back to her sick patient. “I think you’ve got more color already.”

  Grandmother’s thin lips curved into a smile. “I feel much better. I could probably get up and get some things done around the house.”

  “No way,” Anya’s mother said. “You need to rest. You always overdo it. Promise you’ll rest until I come back tomorrow.”

  “All right,” Grandmother said, but she winked at me when Anya’s mother wasn’t looking.

  The potion worked quickly, but she probably should rest. She’d been pretty sick.

  “Tell your mother thank you for me, Zoe. She’s such a dear.” Grandmother shifted restlessly in the bed, and I knew she’d be up and around as soon as we cleared the door.

  Anya’s mom leaned down to kiss her on the cheek and Anya followed suit.

  “We’ll let you rest now.” Anya’s mom checked the cordless phone next to the pillow to make sure it was still charged. “Call if you need me.”

  “Okay, dear.”

  We all said our goodbye’s, including Brad.

  When we got to the sidewalk, Anya said in a sugary sweet voice, “Brad, do you think you could drive Zoe home?”

  “Oh,” Brad said. I could see the rusty wheels turning in his head. He didn’t want to leave Anya, but he did want to please her. “Sure.”

  “Thanks, Brad,” Anya said, fluttering her lashes at him.

  Thankfully, I didn’t live very far away. Spending even five minutes alone with Brad in his mud-splashed jeep did not appeal to me in the least.

  Anya’s plan was not without a downside, however. Brad must have realized he had very little time left. He got even c
lingier and demanded Anya’s attention the whole walk to her house.

  Chapter Ten

  Monday, Anya acted kind of weird in English. I was too busy figuring out when I’d get my biology homework done to care. But when I got off the bus Monday afternoon, I found Brad raking the leaves in my yard. For a minute, I really thought I had the wrong house. Or that I’d fallen off the bus and hit my head really hard.

  I stood there as the bus pulled away, clutching my back pack to my chest. 179. Yep, the street number on the house was right.

  Perhaps I should see if my hallucination talks. “Brad?”

  He turned, rake in hand, and yelled hello. Then, he went back to the leaves.

  I walked over to where he was working. “Brad! What are you doing here?”

  He turned around. With a shrug, he said, “Anya said you needed me to do your yard or you couldn’t go to the dance on Friday.”

  She did, did she? “And she wouldn’t go with you unless I went?”

  He swiped at the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand. “Right.”

  “How much are you doing to my yard?” The leaf pile was impressive.

  “Just the leaves.” He moved closer and leaned on the rake. “Why? Is there more?”

  I so wanted to say yes, but his earnest expression did me in. “No. The leaves will be great.” Poor Dad would be bummed that I hadn’t earned my allowance this week. With a last glance at Anya’s slave, I unlocked the door and went inside. I probably should have given him the leaf blower. Oh well.

  I dialed Anya. She picked up right away.

  “Hey. I thought you might call.”

  “Why did you send Brad over here?” You psycho freak.

  “Oh, please. You know you don’t mind. Plus, I had to get rid of him.” In her best drama queen, she added, “He was driving me crazy. You know. I think he’s unbalanced.”

  “So you send him to my house.” Okay, I know I unbalanced him myself, but she doesn’t know that.

  “Well, yeah. Oh, I gotta go. Jake’s here.”

  “Jake’s at your house?”

  “No. I’m at his house. Well, on his porch. He just got home. Gotta go.”

  “Anya!”

  No answer. I clicked the phone shut.

  Of all the nerve, she was so hitting on Jake.

  Mom woke me up early on Tuesday morning to say goodbye. She had to leave early to start on the bathroom remodel across town.

  “Ride the bus home, okay?”

  “Mmmm,” I groaned. I hated riding the bus. My neck hurt from sleeping on the text I’d been reading last night. I hated when I did that. I sat up and closed A Treatise on Potions (eighth edition) by Dr. Finnegan. I carefully placed the book on my nightstand. I practically knew it by heart, but I didn’t want my well-worn copy falling apart.

  “If I get finished early enough,” she said, “I’ll come get you and we can make the six o’clock step class.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “Good luck, Mom,” I called after her. She always liked it when I showed I cared.

  I climbed out of bed and pulled on the worn jeans, bra, and pink cardigan I’d laid out the night before. Mom liked to buy me pink. I usually tried to avoid wearing it, but I looked really good in this sweater.

  When I sat down in homeroom next to Jake, I caught him looking at the sweater. I think he liked it on me too.

  “Hey,” he said. “Did you have a good weekend?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  He nodded. “I got to hang out with Larry at his new place.”

  I had wondered if he was going to be seeing Larry now that Larry and Sheree had split. I knew he viewed Larry as a father-figure. They’d done a lot of hiking and camping, just the two of them. I wasn’t sure what the deal was with his real dad. No one had ever told me. “That’s good. What’d you guys do?”

  With a shrug, he said, “Nothing really. Saw a couple of movies.”

  “I guess we’ll be watching our parents date again this weekend.” I grimaced. “If this keeps up we’ll end up being brother and sister.”

  He shuddered. “Eew. Don’t ever say that. You are so not my sister.”

  “Thank God.” I couldn’t think of anything worse right then than being his sister. He wouldn’t kiss his sister, and I really liked his kisses.

  “Yeah,” he echoed over the buzz of voices in the classroom. “Thank God.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to gross you out.”

  “That’s okay,” he said with a smile. “Who cares about our parents? We have our dance on Friday.”

  “Right.” I couldn’t wait. I had the whole romantic dance scenario in my head. A real Cinderella fantasy.

  The announcements came on over the intercom, and I took a moment to envision myself dancing in Jake’s arms.

  When I walked into the noisy cafeteria, I saw Anya sitting with Jake and Brad at one of the tables. Jake motioned me over, a bit frantically to tell the truth. Anya was either trying to get as close to Jake or as far from Brad as she could.

  “Hey guys,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “Oh,” Anya said, moving away from Jake just a smidgen when I walked up. “Hey, Zoe.” She had a yogurt in front of her.

  “Where’s Camille?” I asked. I set down my backpack.

  Anya shrugged. “She didn’t show.”

  Brad and Jake had already gotten their lunches too. “I guess I’ll be right back.”

  Jake jumped up, extracting his arm from Anya’s grip. “I’ll come with you. I need some chips.”

  “Okay,” I said. This was weird. Although, not bad weird. He’d rather come with me back through the line than sit with Anya.

  “Thank God!” Jake said as we made our way to the serving area. “I thought you’d never get here.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Why’s Anya hanging on you?”

  “I’m thinking she wants to get back together.” He leaned closer to whisper as we got in line. “And Brad’s sitting right there, doing his best to get her attention. I thought they were dating.”

  “I thought so, too,” I said.

  “Well, Brad’s totally into her, but she’s ignoring him.”

  “I guess she should probably tell him if she isn’t interested.”

  “Exactly.” He frowned. “He’s acting kind of like an idiot.”

  Poor Brad. “I guess he has it bad for her.”

  “Whatever.”

  My heart thumped. Jake wasn’t interested in Anya anymore.

  “She’s probably flirting with me to get rid of him.”

  Something in his voice worried me. “And if she isn’t? What if she wants to get back together with you?”

  “She doesn’t.”

  I grabbed a salad from the cooler. “But what if she does?”

  Either he didn’t hear me or didn’t want to answer because he was across the crowded aisle getting his chips when I looked up.

  I found some dressing and grabbed some plasticware and got in line to pay. Jake was ahead of me, and he waited a minute for me after he paid despite the overwhelming aroma of unsavory meatloaf.

  We walked back to the table together, but I didn’t have the nerve to ask him about Anya again.

  Anya beamed when we reached the table. She acted as happy to see me as she did Jake.

  Brad wasn’t there. “Where’s Brad?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “I sent him to get me another Diet Coke.” She motioned to the machines across the expansive cafeteria.

  I saw that he was already headed back with his purchase.

  “So,” I said, sitting down next to Jake. “Did Brad send you flowers?”

  She slapped her hand down on the table shaking my salad and water. “I knew you had something to do with that. He sent me six dozen peach roses.”

  “Wow,” Jake said.

  I knew he was thinking that must have cost a fortune, because that is exactly what I was thinking.

  I said, “He must really like you, Anya.” />
  “You think?” Anya wrinkled her nose. “He is totally getting on my nerves. I don’t get it. He didn’t act like this at first.”

  “I guess he’s in love,” I said with a teasing tone.

  Jake rolled his eyes at me.

  With a huff, Anya reached down and pulled a folded piece of notebook paper from her backpack. “He wrote me a love poem.”

  Jake and I both cracked up.

  “And it’s horrid.” Anya pushed the paper toward us. “See. Read it.”

  “No,” I pushed it back. “We shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?” Jake asked and grabbed the paper. “Do these music notes mean you’re supposed to sing it?” He rapped, “You know I love you baby. And I don’t mean maybe. You’re my cutie. Not just for your hot bootie. You’re prettier than a rose. This fact I know. You’ll be in my heart forever. And I’m not just trying to be clever.”

  Good thing. Because clever, he’s not. “It’s not so bad,” I said trying to keep a straight face. “You know, for rap-inspired poetry.”

  “He owes rappers a big apology,” Jake said shaking his head.

  I couldn’t resist. “He owes every poet, song-writer, and boyfriend in the free world a big apology.”

  Anya didn’t reply because Brad arrived at the table.

  “Here, sweetheart,” he said, plopping the can on the table in front of her. “Do you need anything else?”

  He reminded me of Jake’s dog, Indiana. Can I? Please? Pant. Pant.

  “No,” Anya mumbled. And I could swear I heard her add “unfortunately” under her breath.

  I started eating my salad very carefully so as not to end up with lettuce stuck in my teeth.

  “Jake,” Anya chirped. “Do you just love your room?”

  “Yeah. It’s great.” He pulled another potato chip out of the bag and munched on it.

  “You know what? You should have a party to celebrate.”

  Jake shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Not a big party. I know Sheree would freak. But, like, how about an intimate gathering? Just some friends.” Anya popped open the can.

  “I already had the guys over last weekend.”

  Anya’s voice grew flirtatious. “What about the girls?”