Reeeeeeeek!
I drop my purse at the shrill sound of gears moving. Standing in frozen horror, I watch as the conveyor belt begins to move like a locomotive, gaining in speed and noise. Pads begin to sail out of the chute like bullets from a machine gun.
It comes out of your paycheck . . .
“Noooooo!” I dive for the conveyor, grabbing adhesive papers and sticking them on like I’ve got four arms. Swipe, stick, grab. Swipe, stick, grab.
Swipe, swipe, stick—Stick, stick, grab—No! I can’t lose any. But the pads are building into a mound at the base of the conveyor. I rake them upwards with my arm and sit on the belt. I pull up my legs and rest them on the sides, making a wall with my body. There must be no pad casualties!
As if a dam breaks, the pads only come faster and faster. I jump all over the machine, slapping papers with my feet, chin, and hands—everything I’ve got.
It’s too much! It’s a tsunami of supermaxis! I’m running out of strength. Out of hands. Out of sticky-on-thingies. Is this what Noah felt like when the rains came?
I’ve got to work my way back to the red button! I have to stop this deranged machine. It’s possessed.
The pads pelt me like an endless hailstorm. Somewhere in my brain the sound of a wailing alarm registers. Maybe it’s the ambulance. Maybe I’ve suffocated in this sea of lady products and I don’t even know it. My hands refuse to stop moving though, and I reach out blindly and just keep grabbing. The pads pile all around me until I’m lost beneath them, like a skier trapped under an avalanche.
“Bella? Hellewww? Bella?” A familiar voice. Eula . . . Eunice . . . Earlene!
With my remaining strength I cry. “Save me!”
“Hold on! I’m going to pull the plug!”
Can’t. Breathe. Must get out. I have a cat to raise.
I feel the conveyor belt stop beneath me, and the alarm’s cry goes silent. My butt’s on fire like I’ve ridden a treadmill on my tush.
“Where are you?” Earlene’s hands wade through the pile. “Don’t let me grab anything inappropriate. I can’t afford a sexual harassment suit.”
“Just get me out of here!”
Pads go flying until I finally have a hole to breathe in. Then I can move my arms. And now I see Earlene’s face, frozen in shock. Or maybe that’s just her brows.
“My stars, little missy. I thought we’d lost you!”
I drag in air in gulping gasps as Earlene begins to rip pads off my body right and left. “Ow. Ouch. Hey!”
“You’re covered in them.” She snickers. “They’re like cockleburs. They’re stuck everywhere!” She tears one from my hair. My face. There is no spot on my body that does not have something glued to it. “You look like a maxi-pad mummy.”
Earlene can hardly remove the pads for laughing so hard. She lightly touches a few spots on my face and neck. “Little missy, you’re going to have what we call around here sticker burn. It will be a little red. A little whelpy. No big deal.”
“Makeup will cover it up, right?”
She looks at her shoes. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Earlene . . . this was very, um, educational. I think I have enough information for my article. And this really isn’t my thing.” I’m so weak!
“Are you saying this job doesn’t make your heart extra-absorbent with happiness?”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Hon, if this place isn’t a super fit for you, then by all means don’t stick around.”
As Earlene continues her zippy double entendres, I walk away, the sound of her guffaws in my ear. This day could not get any worse.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a guy with a palm-sized video camera trained right on me.
Well. I stand corrected.
Knowing your most embarrassing moment in life will soon be on national television is bad. But knowing it’s going to be on YouTube in ten minutes? A hundred times worse.
chapter twenty-five
Some girls dream of Jake Gyllenhaal or the boys from Gossip Girls. Me? Every night this week, I’ve had nightmares about drowning in a deluge of feminine protection.
I shut off my alarm this Thursday morning, and Moxie hops onto the floor—promptly tripping over a pair of boots. After my shower, I mosey to the kitchen. Mom sits at the small table, biting into a bagel and turning the page of a textbook.
“How’s philosophy?” I kiss her cheek and pour myself a glass of juice.
She sticks the bagel in her mouth and grabs her pencil. “Interesting. I had hoped to find some insight in here on Robbie’s strange behavior.”
“Like how he TiVo’s all of Anderson Cooper’s specials on CNN? Or how he’s memorized every word of the Superman TV shows, cartoons, and movies?”
“No.” Mom scribbles some notes. “I meant his strange behavior lately.”
“Oh. You’ve noticed too?”
“He was up before I was this morning. He went to his quiet place. Why don’t you go check on him?”
This means he’s out in the pasture with Betsy the cow. Betsy’s his pet. And she licks me. I don’t want Holstein slobber on me this morning.
Mom turns tired eyes to me. “Bel, I was up late last night talking to Dolly. Please help me out here.”
“What’s up with Dolly?”
Taking a sip of coffee, Mom shakes her blonde head. “She got word yesterday that the baby’s father just found out about him. He’s been stationed in Iraq and had no idea the girl was ever pregnant.”
“But Dolly is Mason’s mother now. He can’t have him back.”
“Yes. He can, and he wants his son. Dolly’s got a lawyer on it, but with the dad in the picture, this could nullify the adoption. It will probably go to court.”
My heart hurts for Dolly. This will make three children she’s lost. “I’ll go check on Robbie.” I go to the back door and grab my coat off a peg. But what I need is a rain slicker or one of those suits like the astronauts wear. Maybe Betsy will keep her tongue to herself today.
With little light, I tromp through the grass and open the metal gate that leads to the pasture. Bundling my coat around me, I walk until I reach the pond. Robbie sits Indian-style with a flashlight, throwing rocks into the water. Betsy lounges beside him.
“Hey, buddy.” I sit down. “Kind of a cold morning to be out.”
His eyes stay fixed on the pond. “Betsy wanted some company.”
The cow looks at me like I’m a giant lollipop. “Robbie, is someone picking on you at school? Has someone hurt you?”
“Nobody’s hurt me.”
“Well, something’s wrong. Please tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m a big boy, Bella. I have to be strong and take care of myself.”
“Says who?”
“Superheroes don’t depend on other people. My dad doesn’t let anyone get the best of him.”
“Yeah, but that’s Hollywood. And wrestling . . .” How to put this? “It’s not as real as it looks either. Why don’t we talk to your dad tonight? You can tell him everything that’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on, and I don’t need anyone’s help!” He rubs Betsy’s wet nose then stands up. “I have to get ready for the bus.”
I’m almost sure I see the glisten of a tear as he runs past me and back toward the gate.
Betsy rises as I do. “Oh, no. You stay put—ew!” One French kiss in the face. She bats her big black eyelashes and takes a step closer. And like Robbie, I take off in a sprint.
In journalism class I write a rough draft of another teen job article. I’m calling it “I’d Rather Be Shopping: My Thoughts on Child Labor.” I guess I need to interview some other student workers and get some pics of them on the job. I’m so sick of seeing pictures of me on the job. Everyone knows about my Summer Fresh disaster by now. As soon as Wednesday it was splashed all over the tabloids. And I’m currently number one on YouTube and Google Video. I knew God was working on my humility, but I didn’t know torture would be invol
ved.
Abbie and Tabbie, identical twins and fellow reporters, sit at the computer in front of me. They laugh over something on the Internet, and I double check that it’s not me.
Luke makes the rounds to all of his staff and checks everyone’s status, answers questions, and offers help. When it’s my turn, he doesn’t even look at my screen. “Did you find out where Callie Drake’s boyfriend was on the night of the basketball game?”
“No. I’ve been working.” To his credit, Luke doesn’t even crack a smile. He hasn’t made one single snarky comment about my run-in with a million maxis.
“The prom queen voting site did have Anna in the lead by a nose.” He sits in the empty seat next to me. “Then last week after Felicity came through on the new location, she pulled ahead.”
“And after Callie got busted for the phone, she plunged to the bottom.” I’ve gotten in the habit of checking it too.
“What do you think—did Callie make the phone call or—”
I finish Luke’s sentence. “Did her boyfriend? Luke, I have to be honest. I’ve asked around a bit and found nothing. I don’t know how to approach Callie to find out if her boyfriend has an alibi for Saturday. Everything I’ve come up with sounds lame.”
He smiles. “Think outside the box. What do you know about Callie?”
“Her boyfriend’s a jerk. He’s the jealous type. He doesn’t like her friends, and I overheard him say he wishes she’s get some new ones.” I ramble off a few more useless facts.
“So ask her to hang out with you.”
“Is this an attempt to make sure I’m not alone? How about you ask her to hang out.” Okay, I know how stupid that sounded. “Fine. I’ll work on it.” Eventually. I hate awkward situations—which pretty much sums up every minute of my life right now.
“Bump into Callie, tell her you’re going to the movies or something Saturday night, and invite her. You’re not going to Vegas with your parents, right?”
I’m Sure “I’m going to New York this weekend.” While my family whoops it up at the semifinals in Vegas. I feel kind of left out.
“Then Monday night.” He stands and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “I have absolute faith in you.”
“You’re just saying that so you don’t have to take care of this yourself.”
His grin makes my heart flip. “Maybe I just like to watch you in action.”
It’s an even larger crowd tonight that gathers at Mickey Patrick’s gym for Pile Driver of Dreams.
“Take a bite of this chocolate tart and tell me that isn’t the flakiest crust you’ve ever had.” The Oklahoma wrestler known as Breath of Death holds out a platter. “My secret is buttermilk and egg whites.”
I pop one in my mouth and chew. “Perfect. The crust is airy, yet substantial.” I have no idea what I said, but the six-foot-seven Breath of Death claps his hands in giddy joy. If he weren’t married, I would seriously wonder about him.
Through the crowd I see Luke slip in through the double doors. He has Ruthie, Matt, and Lindy in tow. I lift a hand in greeting and work my way to the back to talk to my mom.
“Does Dolly need any help?” I ask.
“You might check. Breath of Death handled the desserts tonight, but Dolly insisted on doing the rest. She said it would keep her mind off things.”
Tonight’s party theme is Western, with beans in a kettle, barbeque chicken individually wrapped in bandana paper, and all the side items somehow served in cowboy hats. Dolly may be queen of cooking, but my mom knows how to make it all look pretty. I reach past a lasso and sneak a bite of fried potato.
I walk through a group of men making animal noises and taking turns with headlocks, toward Mickey’s office. I see Mickey’s back and start to ask him where Dolly is.
“Hey—” I immediately swallow the rest of the sentence as Mickey steps to the left, revealing Dolly. The two don’t even notice me.
“I just wanted to tell you that I’m here.” Mickey runs his finger across Mason’s cheek. The baby sighs and nestles deeper in his mother’s arms.
I step back a bit so they can’t see me.
“Thank you. It will be fine.” But Dolly’s voice cracks.
“I know a great lawyer in Tulsa. I can make some calls. His firm is the best.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary, Mickey.”
“Let me help you.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Dang it, Dolly. Let the past go just long enough to let me help you. When we get this settled, you can go back to hating me.”
The silence in the room is a sharp contrast to the noise in the gym.
When Dolly finally speaks, her voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then don’t shut me out of this.”
“I’ve met with Mason’s father.” She sniffs and rocks her son. “He’s a good man. He served his full term with the army. Fought in Afghanistan. He has supportive parents who are going to help him. Parents who want their grandchild.”
Mason squirms in her arms and begins to whimper. Tears well in her eyes as she transfers the baby to her shoulder and pats his back. Mason’s crying only intensifies.
Dolly’s grin is watery. “Neither one of us can seem to quit crying the past few days.”
Mickey reaches for Mason and brings him to his chest. “That’s a good boy. Mickey’s got you.” He hums a low tune and sways. “Go take care of your party, Dolly. Mason’s not going anywhere tonight.”
Dolly stares at the man who was once her husband. The man she’s barely spoken to since the night her girls were killed many years ago.
“What exactly are you doing?” a voice breathes near my ear.
I swallow a yelp and turn away from the office. “Luke!” I hiss. “You scared me to death.”
Dolly sails right past us and joins my mom at the food table.
“Budge and Ruthie are talking.” Luke jerks his head in their direction. “Well, Ruthie’s talking and your stepbrother is just kind of standing there, mouth open like a hooked fish.”
“Poor guy. Hey, have you tasted the chocolate tarts? Breath of Death made them.”
“Have you ever noticed how giggly that guy is?”
“Have you ever noticed his initials spell BOD?” We laugh, and I notice I’ve gravitated even closer to Luke.
His smile slips. “Bella, promise me you’ll be careful with Hunter.”
This is getting old. And confusing. “You tell us to trust our instinct all the time in journalism. I think I know Hunter.”
He glances at Breath of Death, who’s rearranging the decorations. “Sometimes people just aren’t what they seem.”
chapter twenty-six
We’re thinking a June wedding. Something small since money’s a little tight. No more than five hundred people.”
I bite into my steak and try to pretend like I give a poop about Christina’s wedding details. I had to listen to them all the way from the airport. I used to bring Lindy with me to Manhattan. But now that Dad has swapped Mr. Chow’s for Chili’s and is doubling up on nose jobs, it’s just me. And them.
“We’re going to be bridesmaids.” Marisol announces this like she’s won the lottery.
“You know, I was in my mom’s wedding.” I reach for a crusty roll at the dinner table. “Maybe I could pass on this one and just enjoy it like a normal spectator.”
Christina’s forehead wrinkles. “Kevin?” she whines.
Dad reaches across his dining room table for my hand. “Bella, we want you to be involved. I’m not just marrying Christina, I’m marrying you.”
“Ew.”
“No!” He shakes his dark head. “What I mean to say is, I’m marrying Marisol. Wait—um, Christina is my bride, but I, er, I mean she and Marisol are a package deal. And you and I are a package deal, and together we’re all this big two-for-one special getting married and—”
I hold up my hands. “I think I get the idea.” Though my head hurts.
“
Yeah, so it will be great. But honey, it is kind of turning into a big wedding.” Dad smiles at his fiancée. “Perhaps we could tone it down just a bit.” He turns to me. “There are ten other bridesmaids besides you and Marisol.”
“I’m the maid of honor,” Marisol says with a smirk. As if I’d want that title.
“So . . . twelve bridesmaids?” And I battled the dangers of maxi-pads just so I could buy a prom dress? “Sounds expensive. Dad, do you even have twelve good friends to be your groomsmen?”
He takes a drink of water as Christina answers for him. “Some of my family will be his groomsmen.”
“I thought you were an orphan. And your family was all in Brazil.”
“Bella!” Dad gives me the Are you on drugs? look.
Christina’s smile is as fake as the collagen in her lips. “I also have family in the United States. In my culture, we embrace anyone into our family. And we treat them with love and respect. At all times.”
I nod my head. “Neato.”
“I’m going to ask Luisa to bring in the ice cream for dessert now.” Dad brushes off his Armani slacks and stands.
“I’ll help you!” Get me out of here. This woman brings out the Sharpay Evans in me.
“No, you stay here and talk.”
“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” Christina says as Dad is out of earshot. “I’ve done everything I can think of to be your friend.”
You could buy me an alternator. “Christina, I just need some time to adjust. Within the last six months both my mom and dad have found me a new stepparent. That’s all.” Oh. Plus I don’t like you.
She purses her full lips. “I’m sure you want your father happy. And I’m what makes him happy.”
I glance at her sister, and she’s sitting back with her arms crossed like she’s the stinkin’ queen of my dining room.
I nearly shout a hallelujah when Dad returns, carrying bowls of ice cream on a tray. Luisa waddles behind him with her famous hot fudge sauce.
“Darling,” Christina purrs. “I just had the most marvelous idea! Why don’t we take Bella to that therapist we’ve been seeing?”
“Bananas?” Luisa leans over and cuts some fruit into my bowl.
I'm So Sure (2009) Page 15