“Why not?” I ask. “Mom, the rodeo’s only here for ten days. It’s the only time anything ever happens here. So can’t you let me enjoy it?”
“That’s not it. You never mentioned you were meeting Charlotte,” Mom says.
“Well, I’m mentioning it now.”
“What boy is it this time?” Mom asks. I start to shake my head, but she insists. “No, really, what boy?”
“There’s no boy,” I say.
“Do you expect me to believe that? After Saturday night?” Mom says.
Just then, Dad comes over to join us, carrying a dish of fried pickles and wearing clogs with his cowboy costume. As he gets closer, I see he’s got makeup on, too.
Dean runs up and tells him how he took down the runaway bull, how he stopped Insane Zane. “That’s nice,” Dad says, distracted. “The second program went much better. This thing with the animals . . . it’s a learning curve, I guess,” he says as he crunches into a deep-fried pickle spear.
“Well, Peggy is now going out with her friends,” Mom says in an angry tone, before I can tell him how well he skated, how he made something decent out of nothing.
“Yes, I am,” I say, staring at her.
“Hey, Fleming.” I turn around and Denny is standing behind me. He has this knack for coming to my rescue.
“Hey,” I say, turning toward him. “Have you seen Charlotte?”
“Not yet, but I’m kind of early,” Denny says. “Were we meeting by the food, or by the rides?”
“Here or at the Scrambler,” I say. “Should we go over there now?”
Mom sets down her ribs and wipes her face and that’s when I know she’s getting serious. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”
“Mom, he’s a friend,” I say.
“I asked what boy and you said there’s no boy,” Mom says.
“My friend. Denny. The guy I work with,” I say. “You and Dad even met him at our house,” I remind her.
“So. Does that mean I know anything about him?” she says.
She’s picking a really bad time to all of a sudden get involved in my life again.
“Fleming, I’ll meet you over there, then,” Denny says. He takes off, and I know how he feels. No one wants to be around someone else’s family fight.
“Why is he wearing sunglasses?” my father wonders. “It’s almost dark. I don’t trust him.”
“That’s not it—I don’t trust Peggy,” Mom says to him.
“It’s Fleming, Mom,” I say. “God, could you just try sometimes?”
“Could I try? Oh, that’s good. That’s really good.” She rips open a second packet of hand wipes. “Fleming, then. I’ve been trying to keep you involved in this family. But it’s like you don’t even want to be involved.”
My father sets his little container of fried pickles on the table. “Look, let’s not make this bigger than it has to be. P. F., you can’t hang out with your friends tonight and come home late again. You have class tomorrow. You work tomorrow. End of story.”
“My French teacher has blown off every single class so far—we have subs who don’t even speak French,” I tell them. “Of course, you wouldn’t know that because you don’t ask how my class is going. And work? I’ll be fine for work. I always am. Have I missed a day yet? Have I missed anything yet?”
“Yes. You’ve missed the last, like, five family nights in a row, so—”
“I have family night every day!” I say, which makes more sense than it sounds like. “I’m the one who’s home while you guys are out skating and forecasting and remoting and whatever else you do when you strand me at home without a car.”
“You know what? I know what this is all about,” Mom says. She shakes her head and says quietly, “You can’t stand the fact that you don’t get all the attention now. That you’ve got a brother and sisters, and you’re mad at us about that. You’ve never adjusted to this, so you’re taking it out on us by running around with these guys this summer—”
“I’m not running around with anyone!” I say, which isn’t completely true, but it’s close. “Look, I have adjusted, I am adjusting, I am adjusted. Do you want me to conjugate this for you in French? If I had an actual teacher, maybe I could, but no, my summer sucks. My entire summer is about paying you back, and making good on my promises, which I’m doing. Can’t you see that?”
“P. F., your entire summer hasn’t been about paying us back,” Dad says.
“No, actually, my entire summer has been about helping you guys out,” I say. “Peggy, can you do this, Peggy, can you do that? Except you usually don’t ask. You just assume. You totally take me for granted. You just make plans for me without me knowing about them.”
“That’s—that’s not true,” my father stammers. “We always ask.”
“We’re a family,” my mother says. “Family means thinking about other people besides yourself, family means—”
“Family! Does family mean that you guys can completely forget about me, about what I might want? I’ve given up so much time to help you guys out, and you don’t even notice—you just cruise in when you want to, when KLDV doesn’t need you, or some homeowner doesn’t need you, or when the rink is closed because it’s midnight. You expect me to take Lamaze class and figure out your skating program? And if you figure out your skating, and get your sponsors, you’re going to leave for a few months on tour? Are you serious? Are you even thinking about anyone besides yourselves?”
“We always think about you,” Mom says, looking stung, and Dad nods slowly in agreement, almost as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“Right. You think about me when you’re off deciding to have another child right before my senior year, and you think about me when you’re off deciding to leave home and go on a skating tour during my senior year,” I say angrily. “And you guys are always telling me how I have to learn to be more responsible—me.”
All of a sudden I notice Dorothy has woken up and is staring up at me with these big, watery blue eyes, blinking, not understanding, not recognizing this tone of voice, about to burst into tears.
I can’t take it. I can’t see Dorothy cry right now. She never cries, and if she starts, then I might, too.
I quickly walk away, leaving the food booths. I go past all of the games of skill, looking through tear-blurred eyes at furry white bears and pandas hanging from strings, and metal ducks being shot to a hollow ting ting ting sound. Steve is probably there, trying to win smelly stuffed animals for Jacqui, his type, but I don’t want to know if he is. I don’t want to see him—or anyone—right now. I can’t believe my parents can just stand there and tell me how much they think of me, how considerate they are, how I’m the one who doesn’t understand “family.” They’ve got it all wrong. They’re so different from how they used to be. The three of us used to be so close; we did everything together. Now it’s the two of them—and I’m the nanny.
I pass the rodeo stadium. Inside, loudspeakers blare girls’ barrel-racing results, and the crowd screams in excitement as the bareback bronco riding begins. Everyone’s shouting and applauding and having a great time. Everyone except me.
When I get to the Scrambler, Charlotte and Denny are standing in line, waiting with tickets for me, too. I fake a smile and Charlotte says, “I heard you and your parents got into it. Everything okay?”
“No,” I say.
“Ew. I mean, triple ew.” She hands me a wide silver-toned belt buckle with the initials PFF on it. She shrugs. “They were engraving them and I thought it looked cool.”
“A warning,” Denny says to me. “She’s really into this rodeo thing.”
“Thanks. Just don’t make me pose for the caricature guy,” I say. “Or those old-fashioned saloon-girl portraits.”
“Come on!” Charlotte’s jaw drops. “You are no fun.”
“Oh, God. How did I let you guys talk me into this?” Denny says as he climbs into the Scrambler cart and closes the gate behind him, and the three of us are s
quashed together. “Do you know what this is going to do to my rep?”
“You have a rep?” I ask.
“Yes, she’s alive! Fleming’s alive!” Charlotte puts her arm around me and hugs tight.
She and Denny are laughing and talking about the parade tomorrow, but I don’t really listen. The ride doesn’t feel like it’s been put together right, with metal scraping on metal as we revolve. I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at the faces in the crowd watching us as we whip past, so I don’t have to see if my parents came to find me or not.
Beaucoup Busted
Around 11:30 the next morning, Denny and I are watching the tiny black-and-white TV behind his register. We’re taking a break because we’ve been mobbed with customers for the last five hours. When the Rodeo Roundup Days get into full swing, it’s like this every day, all over town. Tourists wanting to buy everything. It keeps the town financially afloat for the rest of the year, but it’s ten days of traffic jams and restocking soda. Jamie is even here to help, though she disappeared into her office about half an hour ago.
The lead story on the news is the rodeo parade that starts at noon. As I said, Lindville doesn’t get onto TV often. We have to watch when it does.
“So,” Denny says. “I haven’t had time to ask yet. Did you and your parents talk when you got home last night?”
I’ve been so busy this morning that I’ve managed to sort of forget that my parents and I had a huge fight last night. I didn’t see them after that. Denny dropped me off, a block from home, at about 10:30.
“Not really,” I say. When I walked into the house last night, they were sitting in the living room, propped on opposite ends of the sofa, rubbing each other’s feet. I looked at them, and then I went upstairs without saying anything. Later there was a knock on my door, but I didn’t answer it. For all I know that could have been Dorothy, not my parents.
“No? Not at all?” Denny asks.
“No.”
“Well, what was the fight about?”
“Nothing,” I say.
Denny tosses his empty glass bottle into the recycling bin. “Fine. Be the most unloquacious coffee wench of the century, see if I care.”
Jamie walks out from the office in the back. “What are you two doing? Just sitting here, watching TV?” She quickly checks all the coffee pumps. “We’re running on empty here, and you’re watching TV!”
“We were taking a break,” Denny says.
Jamie starts to make coffee. “You get everything ready and then you take a break.”
“Hey. I don’t even work on that side, so don’t yell at me,” Denny says.
“I’ve got it,” I say, rushing over to intervene before Jamie can ruin the brewing. I only have fifteen minutes left on my shift, and Kamikaze’s coffee has to come out of this batch.
The phone rings and Denny answers it. “Gas ’n Git.”
He holds the receiver away from his ear, and I hear a woman’s hysterical voice. He slowly hands the phone to me. “Your mother. I think.”
I grab the phone, wondering why Mom’s calling here—she never does that. “Mom?”
“Peggy! I mean Fleming—sorry, Peg—I mean Fleming,” Mom stammers. “I thought it was heat stroke, but then my water broke, and—it’s time. My contractions are coming really close together and it doesn’t make sense, the barometric pressure’s over thirty, and I’m early, but . . . I’m on my way to the hospital . . . hurry and meet me there!”
“But Mom—can’t you pick me up first?” I ask. “On the way?”
“No time! Baby coming fast . . . parade today . . . blocking streets off . . . now or never! Hurry, please!” She hangs up.
I feel panic grip me. I’m thinking in gasps; I’m not breathing right: It’s time. For me. To help. Deliver a baby. My new brother. Or sister. I grab the counter to steady myself, to keep from keeling over.
“I—I have to go,” I tell Denny as I fling off my sandals, grab my skates, and start jamming my toes into them. “She’s having the baby. I have to be there.”
“You’re skating to the hospital?” Denny says. “No. Come on, Michelle Kwan. I’ll drive you.”
“What’s going on?” Jamie asks.
“Fleming’s mom is having a baby,” Denny begins. “Fleming has to get to the hospital, so I’m going to drive her.”
“No,” Jamie says. “You can’t.”
“Why not?” Denny asks. “This is an emergency.”
“The store can’t be open with just one employee,” Jamie says. “Gas ’n Git regulation. It’s not safe! I’m sorry, I really am. But I can’t have you both leave.”
“But this is an emergency,” Denny says again.
“Look, this might sound harsh, but Fleming isn’t the one about to have a baby,” Jamie says as she starts arranging the Muffins of the Month into a neat circle.
I pull at Denny’s sleeve and tug him away from her. “Don’t push it—it’s fine, I can get there myself. Anyway, you’re meeting Charlotte here in like ten minutes for the parade—remember?” They wouldn’t stop discussing the plan last night.
Denny’s just glaring at Jamie. “She’s so obsessed with those stupid muffins. I feel like pegging her with one.”
“Well, don’t. We’ll get fired.”
“So?”
“So I don’t want to get fired!” I say. “This is the only job I’ve had that I’ve kept, and I have to keep it so I can get out of debt, because if I don’t get out of debt I’ll owe my parents forever and—”
“Fleming! Breathe,” Denny says.
“So you don’t have to take me, because I can go really fast on my skates. If the parade traffic’s bad, I’ll be able to pass all the cars. No problem,” I tell him as I put on my helmet. “My mother has this crazy idea that I’m never around when she needs me, so I’m going to be there this time.”
“It’s okay, I get it. You have this need to skate to the rescue. Okay. Whatever,” Denny says. “Good luck.” He shakes his head.
“Let us know if it’s a boy or a girl!” Jamie calls out cheerfully as she goes back into her office and closes the door.
I skate over to the exit. As I’m going out, a man is walking into the store. I hold the door for him and he mumbles a thank-you to me. He looks sort of familiar, but I can’t place him. Is he someone I know from the bus? I can’t really tell, because he has on a baseball cap and sunglasses. He’s probably a tourist, I tell myself. He needs cold beverages, like everyone else. I could use one myself as the blistering hot midday air hits me like a wave.
The door is closing behind me when I hear the guy ask Denny for a couple of scratch tickets. Wait, I think. Now I’m sure I know him—his voice is familiar. He has a slight accent, but I can’t quite place it. I turn around to look at him one more time. How do I know this guy?
As Denny leans over to pull out the scratch tickets, I see the man reaching in his pocket. Then he holds up a small gun and points it right at Denny.
Oh, my God! It’s the c-store robber! I think, and now I really can’t breathe at all. I’ve got to pull it together, I tell myself. I’ve got to do something.
My body is shaking with nerves but I go back inside as quietly as I can. I glide over to the coffee counter on my skates without making a sound. Jamie is nowhere in sight.
Denny holds up his hands, clutching lottery tickets in each. “So you’re the famous robber. Hmm. Interesting.”
“Give me all the money in the register,” the man says.
I slip behind the counter and grab the first coffee tank pump, then the second. It’s a good thing I just made fresh coffee.
“Yeah, okay. But you don’t really want to shoot me, do you?” Denny says as he puts the scratch tickets on the counter.
Denny! Just open the register and give him the money! I’m thinking. We covered this in training!
“How do you know I don’t want to shoot?” the man says. He thrusts the gun toward Denny. “Do it. Now.”
I flick the “turbo dispen
se” button and aim the two coffee tubes at the robber and start shooting coffee at him. My aim isn’t good at first and I drench his shoes with coffee, and I hear him mutter, “Qu’est-ce que c’est?” Then I turn it on full blast and keep spraying, hitting his legs, his stomach, his throat, and he starts shrieking in pain, singed by Jamie’s Java Blend.
Denny rushes around and tackles him to the floor, and I skate over to help. The robber swears in two languages as Denny pulls his arms around and I sit on his back to hold him down.
And now I know why he looks and sounds so familiar. So that’s where he’s been all summer.
“Monsieur LeFleur?” I say. “I was in your class this summer. The one you never showed up to teach because you were too sick and devastated?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Je m’appelle Mademoiselle Farrell,” I say. “Et vous êtes très beaucoup . . . busted.”
“Your accent is terrible,” Monsieur LeFleur mutters through gritted teeth.
“Well, whose fault is that?” I ask.
Jamie rushes out from the back office carrying a set of handcuffs. “All right, everything’s under control,” she says.
Denny looks at me and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thanks to you, Jamie,” he says.
“What? I was calling nine-one-one,” she says. “Somebody had to.”
Then we drag LeFleur over to the wall of sodas and handcuff him to one of the fridge door handles.
I say good-bye again and take off skating for the hospital. I glance at the clock as I’m leaving. It’s now just after noon, when I usually catch the bus. I skate in the breakdown lane, and I only get a few blocks before I get to the cars that are completely stopped, held up due to the parade roadblock.
I veer around a dead prairie dog. Then up ahead I see cars pulled over, blocking my way. I glide over and skate on the other side of the stopped cars. No one’s moving except me.
I pass the Lindvillager, which is stopped in traffic, not moving at all, looking like a beached battleship.
Then all of a sudden I see this silver car’s door opening, and I try to move out of the way, but it’s too late. I slam into the door. I feel like I’ve been cut in half.
Unforgettable Summer Page 34