A threat.
She smiles. Those blue eyes crawling all over me. “This is our after-school Halloween hangout.”
Mom yells, “Charlie!”
I turn. The place is filling up.
“But if you want, I can keep them away.” She puts her finger to her lips. “Would you like that, Charlie?”
Here it comes.
“In exchange for what?”
“Keep Marta out of the JOs.” She shrugs. “And that’s so easy. She can’t afford it. You do absolutely nothing to help her.” She grins like it’s a beautiful thing. “You do nothing.” The good news is she doesn’t know that Pickler’s already offered to pay. I’m one big step ahead of her. I keep playing.
“Or else?”
“Or else I tell Marta about your little acting gig. I encourage her to try out. And she’ll get it,” Lillian says matter-of-factly. “We both know she will. That’s why you didn’t tell her, isn’t it?”
Yep, in a nutshell.
The sun is beating down on my shoulders. And although kids around me are crying, adults are laughing, and my mother is calling, all I can do is look at her face and consider the ultimatum she has given me:
Do nothing to help Marta go to the JOs. And for that she will keep my lie a secret. And keep everyone I know away from the Pumpkin Patch.
A smile escapes me.
“So we have a deal?” Lillian reaches into her purse and takes out a pair of sunglasses that are so big, they cover half her face.
“We do.”
“Perfect.” She claps. “That’s all I wanted to know.” Then she changes gears completely. “Hey, you guys still throwing your Halloween party at the end of the week?”
The nerve of her. “Yep.” I wave to Mom.
Lillian gives me that look I know so well. “You know we had nothing to do with all that Trixie craziness, right?”
“Of course,” I say quickly, even though it’s not true. Gnats are now sticking to my underarms like they’re sucking the sweat from my shirt. I’m getting red spots all over my arms.
“I hope we’re invited.” Lillian watches me swat at them while they circle my pits like I’ve got gnat food hidden in there. She glances at her arms, her legs, and says, “I guess gnats don’t like me.”
I hate her even more. “Of course you’re invited.” I slap on the fake smile. “It’s going to be great, fantastic.” Mom’s standing in front of the table where the big boss lady is sitting, talking to the people inside the hut. She sees me. Locks on to me. Mouth opens.
“See ya.” I back away from Lillian and her car. I totally have her right where I want her.
Mom is frantically waving me over. I run. When I get there, she grabs my wrists. I’m caught. She introduces me to my new boss. “This is Maria and her family.” Mom points to four small kids, totally mute, the very same ones who were just stacking pumpkins into Lillian’s limo. “Richie, Marcos, Diego, and Manuel.”
The thought of Bobby, Erica, and Babs coming to laugh is distracting me from my single focus. It all hinges on Marta. As long as she keeps her big mouth shut, it’ll all be perfect.
“Just follow their lead and do a great job.” Mom says it like she’s leaving me at a friend’s house for a fun-filled sleepover. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
I stare at my watch. I gasp at the heavens. “Seven?” That’s like in four hours. “I haven’t even eaten since two, Mom.”
“Just think,” she says all happily, “you’re one step closer to having those head shots.” Pen and Felix run toward her. As they get in the car, I see Lillian’s limo pull out in a cloud of dust. Mom turns on the engine, rolls down the window, and waves. “We love you.” And then they drive off, toward home.
I stand up as straight as I can. Suck back those tears, game face on.
“Hola, Carlita.” Maria’s husband, José, wakes me from my self-pity. “Time to get those pumpkins out of the heat. Boss gonna kill us.” He tosses me a hat and some gloves. I look like Jason in Friday the 13th.
All I can do to stop myself from crying is to think about the money I’m going to be making and the head shots I’m going to be taking, and to pray to the Almighty that Marta keeps her big mouth shut. Kinda ironic that my little lie hangs on her.
Will I Never Learn?
The next day Bobby doesn’t come to school again. Which really blows, because I spent a good hour twisting my hair into tight twisties all over my head, messing them up, and then, for a final touch, I populated my hair with purple sequin barrettes. And I wore my best black tutu, my RADICAL FEMINIST tank top, and of course my fishnets and Docs.
But no Bobby. So at lunch I sneak up to the library, and, using Ms. Myrtle’s LAUSD email IP, I send Bobby a message:
You better have a good excuse for leaving me here all alone. If you get this, shoot me a note ASAP before I’m forced to return to Mr. L’s most amazingly boring lecture on why we are our own masters. Whatever that means.
As I type the words, it hits me that I miss him. As in, actually miss him, like a friend. And yeah, the butterflies miss him, too.
“The bell’s going to ring. Wrap it up, Charlie.” Ms. Myrtle taps her pencil.
“Okay.” I stand, willing something to come in.
“I’m closing.” She taps louder.
I pick up my things, about to turn my back, when I hear the beep.
Hey Coop,
Family meeting. Family falling apart. I don’t want to grow up. My parents are a mess. See you tomorrow.
P.S. Lola doesn’t come close.
“Yes!” The final bell rings.
Ms. Myrtle’s standing in the door. “Now, Charlie.”
“Absolutely.” I delete the email, erase all traces, and go happily back to class, but just as I open the classroom door, Lillian pulls me aside. “I held up my part of the deal. It’ll be a ghost town there.”
“Really?” I ask. People are looking at me. Marta’s looking at me.
“Now you hold up yours.” She flips her hair and goes to her third-row seat.
As soon as we’re all sitting down and Mr. L starts talking, a note lands on my desk.
What do you and that no-good soon-to-be fired team captain have in common?
I feel that bite like I’m bad. I feel bad. But, I tell myself, it’ll all be over soon. I’ve just got to hold it together and we’ll all be happy. Just as long as Marta doesn’t find out. I write on the back of it:
You. They want you off the team. You have to keep your mouth shut, all right? No matter what, do not tell them a thing.
That much is true. And I send it over. Mr. L catches me.
“Charlie. Do you need to stay after school?”
“No, no, please, I’m sorry Mr. L.” I slide down my seat and keep my eyes on him alone. It’s getting tricky.
When the bell rings, I pull Marta into the bathroom to really drive the point home. “Tell Coach to keep his mouth shut too, all right? I know Pickler’s not talking because he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s paying for it out of school funds. But Coach has a big mouth.”
Marta looks at me with suspicion. “Are you up to something else?”
I take her shoulders in my hands and squeeze. “Have I ever let you down?”
“No, but—”
“But what?”
Marta pushes me back. “Don’t you ever, and I mean ever, play me. Because if you do—”
I stop her right there. “Do you want to go to the JOs?”
Marta nods.
“Then tell Coach to keep his mouth shut. As soon as I know it’s safe, I’ll tell you. Until then, zip it.”
“All right,” she says.
Later that night after I get home from work, after my hot bath and bowl of orecchiette with mini chicken meatballs in a cream sauce, I sit in bed, staring at the dark screen of my laptop. I want to check in on Bobby but feel like it’ll come off as slightly stalkerish.
I roll on my side. I’m in serious pain. I can barely move my arms, they’re
so tired from the lifting, and my gifted fingers are blistered. But I have almost one hundred dollars in my pocket. It’s called tips, baby. That’s a heck of a lot of money. Suddenly I don’t feel so sorry for Richie and Marcos anymore; they’re reeling it in. By the time I graduate from high school, they’re going to be richer than Bill Gates.
I call Jai, but there’s no answer on his end. Which is a good thing. Jai can see right through me, remember? The door opens, and Pen comes limping in and collapses on the bed.
“Why don’t people care?” She pounds her pillow. “They’re living creatures, after all.”
“They are rodents, Pen.”
“And rodents don’t have hearts and souls?” she yells into the room.
Blueberry Pancakes = World Peace
When the alarm buzzes at six the next morning, I run and lock myself in the bathroom to prepare for my big, and I mean huge, day. The stress is killing me. Today I’m going for a pair of skinny vintage drop-crotch black sweatpants I got from this funky shop on La Brea back when my life was simpler. I add a white tank and a Kurt Cobain plaid shirt tied around the waist. Maybe Bobby and I could hang out at lunch. I’m teasing my hair to a perfect Seattle grunge mess when the most glorious smell comes in under the door.
Blueberry pancakes. I can literally smell them from the bathroom—the browning butter, cake, and berries. I jump the entire staircase like Wonder Woman and grab a plate.
Dad looks up from the screen. “Ever since they ran that story about you in the tunnels, people are going crazy over the canyons. It’s gonna implode. Your sister’s right.”
“Dear Lord, don’t tell her that.”
Pen comes bouncing down the steps. It pains me just how much she doesn’t care about her looks. Today she’s got her hair pulled back in a super tight bun. She looks like she could fly with those ears.
I scarf the last pancake and guzzle the juice while trying to visually measure the wingspan of each ear.
“The canyons could become the next Beverly Hills if we’re not careful,” Dad leans over and whispers to Pen. “It’s a good thing, what you’re doing.”
I watch Mom flip the last batch—my batch. “Saving the world one rat at a time, right, Pen?” I burp. “Sorry.”
Mom gives me the look. She drops two more tiny pancakes on my plate. “No more. And be nice.”
“It’s all right.” Pen gives me the look. “She lives to be destructive. I live to be constructive. That’s the difference between Charlie and me.”
“Yes, Pen, you’ll end up in the White House, and I’ll end up in the jailhouse.” I tap her on the head as I walk past.
“Oh, stop it, you two.” Mom looks like she wants to hit me with the spatula.
“That’s right, blame me.” I look at Pen. “Perfectionism is a form of sibling abuse too, you know.”
Everyone laughs. Why are they laughing? “It’s true. Dr. Scales told me.” I stand my ground.
Felix comes dragging in. His blond hair is a mess. It’s sticking up all over the place, and he’s a wreck. His socks don’t match. His pants hit his ankles like he’s working in the sewers. “I’m starving.” He sneezes and snot shoots out.
Suddenly it all makes sense. Dad’s got on Tevas, Mom’s wearing her orange Crocs. Pen looks like something out of a horror movie, and my little brother looks like he was dressed by the blind. “Mom, be honest. I was switched at birth, wasn’t I?”
“No such luck.” Mom hands Felix his plate of pancakes. Nothing throws her off.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me right now.” I take one more look at their fashion disasters. “Later.”
I leave early for school in the hope of “accidentally” running into Bobby. But the classroom is empty except for Mr. L, sipping his spicy tea, listening to his whales.
“Morning, Mr. L.” I take a seat.
Bobby walks in seconds later. My heart leaps. Yay!
He tosses his backpack against the wall and falls into his seat. He looks mad.
“Hey.” I act like I don’t see him. Playing it cool.
He pulls up his hood and opens his art book to a page filled with lots of dead people, shot-out houses, and broken glass. He goes back to drawing.
I take a better look. Looks like two people covered in blood. These are not the pictures of a happy kid. “What’s that?”
He turns the page. “A murder.”
“Great. Fantastic.” I pick up my book, The Catcher in the Rye. Holden Caulfield is positively optimistic compared to Bobby Brown.
The door hits the wall. Marta comes storming through, wheeling her pink roller backpack, hitting everything in sight. “Charlie!” She looks like she’s about to explode. “You’re never gonna believe this.” She throws her roller backpack against the wall and comes stomping over. Her face is bright red, her eyes huge. But worst of all, she’s got her hair in two ponytails.
She’s dripping wet. “Please tell me that’s water.”
“Sweat.” She wipes it with the back of her hand and licks it. “Yeah. Sweat. I’ve already put in three hours at the gym.”
I cringe. “Nasty.”
But Marta doesn’t care. She jumps up and down. “You’re not listening to me.”
Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. All I want is for Marta to be quiet. To not speak until after I book my job.
“Pickler,” she yells at the top of her lungs, “just handed me my confirmed ticket and entrance number to the Junior Olympics in Texas!! He did it. I’m in.”
SHUT UP! I mouth.
“What?” Bobby looks up. People are beginning to walk in.
“Nothing, nothing at all.” I scan the room. So far none of Lillian’s crew is here. “Marta, shut the heck up!” I grab her by the arms and impale her with the evil in my eyes. “You’re not supposed to say a word, remember?”
But Marta won’t stop. “I, Marta Urloff, am going to Texas to compete in a Junior Olympics championship meet!” she screams into the room. “And no one can stop me.”
“Congrats, Marta.” Bobby tries to sound happy.
But me, I’m beginning to panic. “If they hear you, we’re done.”
“Why?” She throws her hands up. “They can’t do a thing to me. You said it yourself. I have the ticket.”
Oh, but they can do something to me.
Bobby’s listening, catching on. “What’s up with you, Coop?”
I ignore him. If I can just contain her before they walk in, maybe, just maybe, not all is lost.
Marta keeps going full speed ahead. “Coach is putting me in first position. Do you know what this means? Take that, Lillian! Ha!”
What it means is my life is about to be ruined. “Marta, please shut your mouth.”
“But why?” Bobby looks suspicious now too. “She’s got the ticket. There’s nothing they can do to her now.”
If he only knew.
Marta falls into her chair. She drops her head way back. I can see up her nostrils. “He believes I have what it takes to go all the way to the Olympics.” She pounds her feet on the floor.
Mr. L turns his attention to Marta. He throws up his hands. “Everyone, stop what you’re doing.”
Oh, no. That’s it. It’s over.
Mr. L claps. “Marta is going to represent Happy Canyon at the upcoming Junior Olympics in Texas!”
“Yeah, Marta!” The whole classroom’s jumping up and down. And me, I just sit back and wait for the you-know-what to hit.
Bobby nudges me. “What’s with you?”
My eyes are on the clock. The final bell is just about to ring. One minute left. I’m doomed. There is no way Lillian’s not going to find out.
Bobby grins. “They’re here.”
Lillian and Erica are standing silently in front of the class. Lillian takes one look at the crowd surrounding Marta and she knows. “What’s going on?” Lillian says.
I’m about to get my butt kicked.
“Coach just told her the school’s picking up the tab.” Bo
bby rubs it in hard.
“Tab for what?” Lillian wants it spelled out.
“The JOs.” Bobby beams. “She’s his number one star pick.”
Lillian’s head swivels until her eyes lock onto me. “Is that right?”
I slide off my chair. I want to hide.
Marta slaps my desk. “Without the help of my best friend over here, I never could have done it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I mumble weakly.
“Charlie, huh?” Lillian is as cold as snow.
Mr. L beams with pride. “Class, I have to step out for just a second. Get your books.”
They wait for the door to close before they pounce. It’s going down, right now. I pick up my book and hide my face. It’s gonna hurt.
Behind me, I hear Lillian whisper, “You’re dead.”
My heart pounds hard in my chest.
Erica gets up and comes over to our desks. I can see it in her eyes. She’s teasing me, circling like a vulture. Erica stops right in front of us. She leans down and glares.
But Marta feels untouchable. “You guys better be nice to me and Charlie or I’m gonna talk to Coach. I’m already team captain in Texas.”
Lillian’s face turns purple. “I’m team captain.”
“Not anymore.” Marta’s loving it.
Marta, shut up. Please just shut up.
Lillian takes one of those deep scary cleansing breaths, leans forward so she’s in Marta’s face, and says, “What if”—she braids her hair casually, like this is all fun and games—“I was to tell you that you’ll pull out of the JOs all by yourself?”
“You’re insane.” Marta waves her away, laughing. “Nothing’s gonna take me away from the JOs.”
“Mark my words,” Lillian sings softly.
The door opens. Mr. L claps loudly. “Class, time to quiet down. We have a lot of ground to cover.”
I can barely breathe. When is she going to rat me out to Marta? How’s it going to go down? In public, in private? In pieces? Or all at once? I’m so stressed I’m eating my fingers. Mr. L turns his back to us and begins to write on the board.
Watch Out, Hollywood!: More Confessions of a So-called Middle Child Page 5