The car stops and we all pile out. “We’ll talk about this later, okay, Robbie?” He ignores me and walks on into the diner.
The three of us sit at the counter on red barstools. I hear a plate clatter to the floor and without looking, know it’s my mom.
She scurries by us. “Be with you in a jiffy. I have a chicken-fried steak emergency.”
A few minutes later she reappears, her hair wilted to her head. “Shakes all around?”
We all nod. “Crazy day, Mom?”
“Yeah.” She looks across the restaurant. “Dolly’s had the last few hours off.”
I follow the trail of her gaze and find Dolly in a booth, sitting across from a guy who could be her son. Her face is drawn, and even her hair seems deflated.
Mom swipes the counter with a rag. “Mason’s dad. This is their third meeting. His parents just left a bit ago.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from the restrained pain on Dolly’s face. “What does her lawyer say?”
“Dolly’s already made up her mind.” Mom’s hand stops mid-swipe. “She’s giving the baby back to his father.”
chapter thirty
Webcams are so weird. It’s like watching a movie where the sound is a split second off from the film.
“Dad, speak up toward the mic, I can’t hear you.” I glance in my handheld mirror and feather my lashes with mascara. Running late for school as it was, and then dad had to talk to me.
“Bel, I just can’t believe it’s already Thursday. This week has totally gotten away from me.”
“I know. I can’t wait to see you Saturday.” A whole week in New York.
“Yeah, babe . . . about that. I know you’re going to be devastated, but I’ve cancelled your flight.”
“What’s that? I don’t think I heard you right.” I tap my finger on the computer.
“Bel.” He sighs big. “This amazing opportunity has come up. Christina has found a cable channel in Brazil that wants to interview me for a TV show. It’s what I’ve always wanted. It would be me and my life and—”
“Butt implants.”
“More than that. It’s a chance of a lifetime.”
“So not only are you cancelling our spring break plans at the last minute, but you could be moving to Brazil?” I lift my laptop and smash it to my face. “Do you see how unhappy I am?”
“Don’t do that, honey. A frown today, a wrinkle tomorrow.”
“This week was important to me.” I hear the catch in my voice and rein it in. “I wanted to spend time with you. Get my dress for prom. See some Broadway shows and be the girl on your arm—like we used to do.”
“I know.” His pixilated face appears contrite. “I hate that I’m letting you down. Again. It seems like I’m always doing that. But I have to go to Brazil. E! News doesn’t use me for commentary much anymore, and the offers are fewer and fewer these days. If I’m going to get back on track financially, I have to make some sacrifices. And it will give me an opportunity to meet some of Christina’s relatives.” His eyes plead with me through the computer screen. “I’ll make it up to you—some way, somehow.”
“Dad . . .” I take a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about some stuff, and I wanted to tell you that I forgive you. For what you did to Mom. And me—for leaving us.” His head jerks like I just declared my love for Kmart.
Dad thinks about this. Finally he gives a half smile. “Thanks, Bel. Do you forgive me for bailing on spring break?”
“I’m only doing one pardon a day.” But tomorrow doesn’t look so hot for you either. “Bye, Dad. Have fun.” Without me.
As long as I’m in the forgiving mood, I might as well call Mia and get it over with. I briefly consider sending her a postcard or e-mail. No. Suck it up and do it in person. I pull up her number and hit Send.
“Hey! This is Mia. Please leave a message . . .” Voice mail. Score.
“Mia, it’s Bella. I know this is random but, um, just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for how things went down last fall. I guess you’ve figured out by now that I’ve forgiven Hunter, and I wanted you to know . . . I’ve forgiven you too.” I try to think of something else mature or inspirational to say, but come up with nothing. “I hope one day we can be friends again.”
Wow. Being responsible sure takes it out of you. This calls for a Pop-Tart.
“Mom, my ride’s here! I’m leaving!” I grab a light jacket and head out the front door where Ruthie sits in her mom’s Volvo station wagon. I turn my head so she won’t see me laugh. If there was ever a girl who did not belong behind the wheel of a wagon, it’s Ruthie McGee.
“S’up?” she says, squirting ketchup on some Dairy Barn hash browns.
“Wow. Nice pink hair.” She turns her head to give me the full effect. “I like it.”
She starts the car, licking her fingers. “With spring on the way, I thought I needed a change.”
As we drive down the dirt road, the school bus passes us on its way to pick up Robbie. Poor guy. I hate to see him have to get on that thing. I think it petrifies him.
Ruthie sings along to the music, her face scrunched with emotion.
“Celine Dion?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She belts out the chorus. “She sure sings some deep crap.”
A couple of miles down the road we pass a group of kids huddled together waiting for the bus.
An idea unfolds in my head. “Stop the car.” Ruthie brakes and we both jolt forward. “I didn’t mean in the middle of the street.” Total seat belt burn.
As she turns into a driveway, I fill her in on Robbie’s weird behavior. “It’s just a hunch, but I think the kid who’s harassing him probably rides this bus. So if you’d just let me out, I’m going to get on the bus. Oh, and I’m going to need your hoodie.”
Without a word she yanks off her black sweatshirt and passes it over. I pull it down over my head and secure the hood.
A minute later I unbuckle. “Here’s the bus. I’ll see you back at school.”
“Wait!” she yelps, as I climb out the door. “What about calculus tutoring?”
“I’ll just skip it today.” I hear the engine turn off and look back. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t miss this!” She runs to catch up with me.
I wave my arm toward the car parked in someone’s driveway. “You’re just going to leave the station wagon at this person’s house? Blocking the drive?”
“Oh, my mom won’t need the car. She’ll have my bike to ride.” She pushes up the sleeves of her t-shirt. “If we’re gonna rough up some little kids, then I totally want in on it.”
“Ruthie, I’m not going to rough up any—never mind. Just stand behind me and look mean.”
We climb on the bus and walk right past an elderly woman at the wheel. “Good morning, sweeties! It’s a great day to do some learnin’!” Granny pulls the door closed with a whoosh. I wonder if she can even see me behind glasses that are thicker than my hand.
“Don’t stop at the Ford’s because they’re at Gerald Flatt’s,” a short kid says in passing.
“Super dooper!” Granny’s dentures clickity-clack. “Don’t stomp on the Lord just because it’s raining cats.” She nods and adjusts her hearing aid. “Those are words to live by, little man!”
Oh, wow. Robbie could’ve been screaming for help every day on this bus, and Granny No Ears would never hear.
With Ruthie following, I make my way to a vacant seat toward the back of the bus, keeping my head down. I spy Robbie four seats up, his head also lowered. I point him out to Ruthie. She gives me a rock-on sign.
Just as I’m about to tell Ruthie her rock-on privileges have been taken away due to her love for “My Heart Will Go On,” the bus lurches to a stop again. The door opens and kids spill up the steps and into the aisle. I study the faces. Do any of these kids look like thugs? Who would pick on Robbie anyway? He’s the sweetest kid ever. A little weird, but who isn’t?
“Oh, yeah, little short one.” Ruthie’s turned aroun
d talking to a middle schooler. “On episode three-hundred-and-twenty-seven, I thought I was gonna pee my pants when Raven got stuck in that tree!”
I swat her shoulder. “Would you turn off the Disney channel and focus? Don’t draw attention to us.”
Two stops later, nobody is even talking to Robbie but the white-haired girl in pigtails sharing his seat. And she looks like she’s about to sprout angel wings, not two fists.
Thirty minutes later the bus chugs to a stop at the edge of the elementary school.
“Have a joyous day, sweeties!” The driver opens the door and everyone trickles out.
Shoot. That was a total—wait a minute.
I press my nose to the grimy window and see three kids standing there, arms crossed, scowls in place. They’re waiting for someone. I look up the aisle in time to see Robbie file out, his face pasty white.
“Let’s go.” I bump Ruthie with my hip and nudge her out.
She cracks her knuckles, then her neck. “Lead the way. I got your back.”
I slide past her and down the steps. “No weapons, Ruthie. I want to talk to some kids. Not get arrested.” I hear her sigh.
Robbie walks down the sidewalk toward the school, his backpack hanging low. He doesn’t make eye contact with the three boys, just keeps going.
“You owe me money, Red.”
The kids look like they might be all of ten. I immediately have the urge to smash their faces in now and ask questions later.
“Red, I’m talking to you. You got my money?”
Robbie sidesteps one, only to run into another. A tall brown-headed kid grabs him by the shoulders. I put my arm on Ruthie to hold her back.
“I want your lunch money, and I want it now.”
Robbie stares at the grass. “I—I don’t have it. I brought my lunch again.”
The kid gives him a small shove. “That’s not good enough.”
“Maybe you can fly away and get it,” another chides. The three laugh heartily as they circle in on Robbie.
“I warned you what would happen if you came to school without my money again.”
“And what is it that will happen?” I step forward.
The kid doesn’t release Robbie. He looks at me, then Ruthie.
228 “Who wants to know?”
“We do.” I smile. “I’m Mary Cline.” I flash my driver’s license. “I’m with playground security. This here is my partner—”
“Drew Barrymore.” Ruthie flexes.
“Right. And Drew and I have gotten quite a few complaints about a group of boys who are such sissies they have to pick on little kids instead of anyone their own size. Would you happen to know where I could find those boys?”
“No.” A snot-nosed blond in a flannel shirt spits on the ground. “Why don’t you go look for ’em?”
Ruthie and I step closer. I glance at Robbie, who stands there motionless, his mouth a perfect oval.
“Drew Barrymore, I think our search is over, don’t you?”
She pops her knuckles again. “I think we’ve found our sissy boys. Shame too. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to get the police involved.”
“Wait a minute!” I point to Robbie. “Isn’t that the wrestler’s son?”
“I think it is, Martha.”
I cough. “Mary.”
“It is indeed, Mary. I heard that Captain Iron Jack is as mean in real life as he is in the ring. Do you remember what happened to the last bunch who were picking on his kid?”
I whistle low. “Those girls were never heard from again.”
I continue to ignore the boys and move closer to Robbie. “Young man, I’m going to have to ask you not to do your kung-fu moves on
them. I believe we were present for your last tussle, and it took us two weeks to scrape the blood off the sidewalk.”
Ruthie shakes her pink head. “Totally ruined the hopscotch area.”
“This kid don’t know how to fight,” Blondie says.
Ruthie and I both chuckle.
“Why do you think we’re here?” I ask. “They only alert us when something big’s going down. And word on the street was that Robbie here was getting ready to administer some pain.”
Brown hair snorts. “Whatever.” But his voice isn’t quite as strong this time.
“Robbie,” Ruthie says. “I would be honored if you would show me your famous dancing tiger block.”
Robbie just stares.
“No, no, we can’t ask that of him. It’s too much.” Yikes. What have we gotten into?
“Maybe the peaceful turtle block?” Ruthie does not feel my eyes lasering into her and keeps going. “Or the fiery rat slam. That’s a good one.”
The boys stare for a moment before dissolving into whoops of laughter. Again.
Robbie lifts wounded eyes to me.
“I would be honored, Robbie, if you would show them your moves on me. I can take the pain.” I look at him hard. “Like now.” I give the smallest of nods.
“I’m not sure . . .” his small voice whispers.
“What a baby.”
Come on, Robbie. Read my deceptive, devious mind and work with me!
“Listen, puke-face, we’ve wasted enough time,” pops the tall one. “Double the money tomorrow or we’ll take it out on your face.”
“Hiiiiiii-yay!” Robbie squats into some crazy stance, his green eyes intense on mine. With well-timed grunts, he moves into a series of poses, each one crisp and . . . very believable. This guy has been watching a lot of kung fu.
Again I give just a hint of a nod. With a warrior’s yell, Robbie charges, his left foot airborne. I take it right in the gut.
“Oomph!” My coat pads the blow, but not before my eyes cross. Purposely I stumble backward groaning with pain. He throws a few Kung Fu Panda punches to my side, and I collapse on the ground moaning.
Robbie jumps over my thrashing body. He looms over my face, holds up chopper hands, and I catch his wink.
“Heeee-yah!” Pulling a wrestling move from his repertoire, Robbie brings down a hand, and a centimeter before impact, I jerk away as if hit. I wail in agony and look at the boys through slit eyes. It’s quite possible they’re buying it. At least they’re not laughing anymore.
“Oh yeah?” Ruthie stomps forward and roars. “You think you can take me?” She kicks a perfect Tae Bo roundhouse. I see Robbie hesitate . . . then run right for her gut. “Feng shui!” she yells as he attacks.
Robbie lands before her in a cartwheel, pivots, then jabs both elbows into her stomach.
“Aughh!” Ruthie yells. She taps her stomach, sending him a signal. “Hit me again, short one. I can take it.”
He clotheslines her neck, and her head bobs roughly to the
right. Ouch. That one was real. She motions to her stomach again—just a small movement.
Robbie faces out toward the boys, then goat kicks Ruthie with everything he’s got.
She cries sharply and falls, but not before a red stain oozes through her shirt.
“She’s bleeding!” Brown hair boy yells.
“He killed her!” From thug number three.
Robbie freezes as if someone pushed pause on his remote. His eyes are bigger than the tire swings on the playground. His little hands shake.
“We’re not worthy to fight you,” I croak. “Doctor . . . I need a doctor.”
Ruthie lies still, spit dribbling out of her mouth.
While the boys move closer to inspect my friend, I tug on Robbie’s pants. “It’s okay,” I mouth.
He turns on the three bullies. “Next time . . . it’s going to be you. I’ve let you push me just because I didn’t want to hurt you. But know this—my dad’s a wrestler, I’m a warrior in training, and not only do I land a lethal kick . . . but I eat paste and live to tell about it. If you ever pick on me or anyone else again, I’ll come after you. And I’ll be bringing help.”
Like something out of a movie, the leader hesitates for only a second before running away. His coconspirators all but
trip over their own feet to catch up with him.
Ruthie peels open an eyeball. “They gone?”
I see Robbie instantly relax. “You’re okay?”
She laughs and reaches her hand into her shirt, only to produce a squashed ketchup packet. “It was a great day for hash browns.”
“But now you’re all gross.” That’s so Robbie. He’s been problem free for less than a minute and already found something else to worry about.
Ruthie taps the red spot. “For you, I’ll wear the stain with honor.”
I pull myself upright. “Robbie, you did a great job. I’m proud of you, buddy.”
He sniffs his nose, swipes some dirt off his hands, then clutches my waist with all his might. “Bella, you make my whole face smile.”
My throat constricts as I wrap my arms around him and squeeze. “I love you, little brother.” A tear plops onto my cheek. Right before I’m tackled by Ruthie.
“I love you, too, guys.” She snorts into her sleeve. “That was the best!”
“Robbie?” I say with smushed lips. “You’ll always be a warrior to me.”
“Thanks, Bel,” comes his muffled voice.
“But seriously—the paste thing? You’ve got to give it up. Your breath smells like Elmer’s.”
chapter thirty-one
After school, I have Budge make a pit stop at Pancho’s Mexican Villa. “I’ll be right back,” I say.
“Can I have a taco?” Robbie starts to bail out too.
“No. They stunt your growth.” And I shut the door.
I plow toward the door and fling it open. “Welcome to Pancho’s Mexican Villa!” a girl chirps. Her smile is nearly wider than her face.
Wow. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” she beams. “First day!”
Tomorrow she’ll sound like the other zombies.
I bypass her gleaming counter and hang a right to Manny’s office.
At my knock he wrenches it open. “What do you wa—” His hand goes to his largest gold chain. “What can I do for you?”
“Um . . . I just wanted to apologize for losing my cool and starting a food fight.”
“How sorry?”
“This much?” I hold out my hands the width of a taco.
I'm So Sure (2009) Page 18