Momentous Events in the Life of a Cactus

by Dusti Bowling

  “All kinds of boys are going to like you.”

  “I seriously doubt it.”

  “Why? Why shouldn’t boys like you? They liked your mother, too, and you’re just like her.”

  “Except she had arms.”

  “Oh, is that what this is about? Well, a boy who can’t see nothin’ but that ain’t the right boy for you.”

  I tilted my head. “Gee, you’re so old and wise.”

  Josephine rolled her eyes.

  “Do you think she and my birth father liked each other?”

  “I doubt they hated each other.”

  I crossed my legs and smacked my purple flip-flop against my heel. “Did you ever find any, like, red squeaky noses or squirting flowers or abnormally large shoes in her room around the time she got pregnant with me?”

  Josephine stared at me like I was wearing a red squeaky nose. “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  Josephine squinted at me. “So when’s the next lesson?”

  “Tomorrow. After school.”

  “You do the jump yet?”

  “No, but I have a feeling it’s happening tomorrow.” I continued flapping my flip-flop against my heel. “Yep, definitely tomorrow.”

  Josephine picked her book back up. “We’ll see.”

  I waited until she got back to her place before I hit the book from the bottom with my foot causing it to pop out of her hands and onto the floor. “What do you mean, we’ll see?”

  She shrugged. “Everyone will understand if you’re too chicken.”

  I slammed my foot down on the floor and pushed my shoulders back. “I am so not chicken!”

  Josephine grinned like her silly little name-calling tactic might work on me. Darn it. It had worked. Now I was definitely doing that jump tomorrow.

  Just then a lady with a poufy blonde wig and a disheveled polka-dot blouse walked up to us. “Have you seen my teeth?” she asked. “I think I left them on the side table here.”

  My mouth dropped open, but Josephine pointed at the woman in the maroon dress who was now sitting in a chair watching the television, which wasn’t on. “I think Betty over there has them.”

  6

  What do you mean

  You’ve met someone new?

  She can’t possibly know you

  The way that I do.

  — Kids from Alcatraz

  I PICKED UP A CRICKET WITH MY TOES and dropped it in front of Fathead. She immediately attacked it. I had found the poor tarantula near the front entrance of Stagecoach Pass about a month ago. She was missing two legs, and I imagined she had lost them in a brutal fight-to-the-death with a vicious scorpion. Tarantulas ate scorpions—another awesome thing about them. Why was it awesome? I mean, have you ever seen a scorpion?

  Fathead hadn’t seemed like she was doing too well when I found her and didn’t even try to run away when I’d nudged her into a shoebox with my foot. I had cleaned up the terrarium I found in the old shed, and now I was running Aven’s Tarantula Rehabilitation Center. I hoped Fathead would grow her legs back, but if not, she was welcome to stay at the ATRC as long as necessary. True, she was my only patient so far, but I was sure more would come once they heard about my luxurious amenities: crickets at every meal, climate control, live guitar music, and plenty of dirt to burrow in.

  My cell phone rang on the bed—the call I’d been waiting for. I hit the answer button with my toes and then pressed the speaker button. “Aven’s Tarantula Rehabilitation Center,” I announced to my caller.

  Connor barked. “How is Fathead?”

  I watched as she devoured her cricket. “Hungry.”

  “Has she molted yet?”

  “Not yet.” Connor and I had been waiting for Fathead to molt because she might have new legs after that. “I think soon, though. She looks awfully molty.”

  “Probably not if she’s hungry. Remember, their eating slows down a lot before they molt.”

  I knew Connor was using Fathead to avoid talking about the important issue of the day. “How was school?” I lay back on my bed and pushed my feet against the wall, which had lots of dusty footprints on it.

  Connor barked. “How do you think?”

  I tapped my feet against the wall. “I think it was probably better than you think.”

  “If you think it was a blazing dumpster fire of suck, then yes, you think it was better than I think.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

  “Someone already barked back at me.”

  “We knew that would happen. Did your teachers explain that you have Tourette’s to the classes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “They mostly all ignored it.”

  “See!”

  “Also . . . I guess there was one thing that made it slightly better than a blazing dumpster fire of suck. A girl in my Algebra class also has Tourette’s.”

  I swung my feet around and jumped up from my bed. “Get out! Did you talk to her?”

  “Yeah, we talked after class. She’s nice. Her tics aren’t as bad as mine, but she’s just . . . nice. We ate lunch together.”

  I sat back down on my bed, my excitement fading for some reason. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow she’s going to introduce me to some of her friends.”

  I cleared my throat and walked over to my guitar in the corner. “That’s so great.” I swallowed as I plucked gently at one string with my toe. “I knew it would be okay. What’s her name?”

  “Amanda.”

  “What does she look like?”

  Connor was quiet for a moment. “Why does that matter?”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t. I don’t know why I said that. What’s up with your dad, by the way?”

  The whole reason Connor had to move to Chandler was so he could reconnect with his dad, who had apparently come to his senses and realized he was losing his only child. His words, I guess. Why his dad couldn’t have moved to this side of town, I didn’t fully understand, but he said it would have made his commute to work too terrible.

  “Nothing,” Connor said. Connor hadn’t been thrilled about the whole deal, to say the least. “He wants to take me out for dinner tonight to celebrate the first day of school. He’s so clueless.”

  “I think you should go.”

  “It’s hard enough eating in public with people who care about me.”

  “I think he does care about you or he wouldn’t be trying so hard. Plus, it’s nice to have someone to eat with while your mom’s working. I’m glad you don’t have to eat alone.”

  “Well, I’d rather eat alone. No, actually, I’d rather eat with you.”

  I smiled. “Or Amanda.”

  “Yes, or Amanda.”

  My smile fell. I hadn’t expected him to agree with me. “Or Zion,” I added.

  “Yes, or Zion.”

  “Speaking of Zion, he said you’re going to Comic Con with us in a few weeks.”

  “Yeah. Are you going to dress up?”

  “Are you going to dress up?” I asked.

  “I will if you will.”

  “Okay. But don’t tell me what you’re dressing up as. Let’s surprise each other.”

  Connor barked. “Cool.”

  Mom walked in. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I told Connor and hit the end button.

  “How is Connor?” Mom asked, sitting on my bed.

  I gently laid my guitar on the floor then pushed it over to the bed and sat down next to her. I plucked at the strings. “Okay, I guess.”

  “How are things going with his dad?”

  I scowled down at my guitar. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  I softly played a couple of chords. “He made a new friend already.”

  Mom’s face lit up. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Yeah, it’s wonderful,” I said with far less enthusiasm than she had.

  She chuckled and shook her head. She put her arm around me and squeezed my shoulders
. “It is wonderful.” She kissed the top of my head. “I’m sure he’s nice.”

  “She.”

  Mom looked down at me and nodded slowly. “Oh. I see.”

  “And she has Tourette’s. So I guess they have a lot in common.”

  “Aren’t you happy he made a friend?”

  “Of course, I am.” Geez, I didn’t know how to explain how I felt. Would I want Connor to be all alone? Of course not. Would I want him to be eating lunch by himself? No way. Would I want him to be friendless for all of high school? No. “I just wish his new friend were a boy. I know that seems stupid, but that’s how I feel.” I pounded a chord out. It sounded awful. “And I can’t help how I feel.”

  “No friend will ever replace you, Aven.”

  I kept plucking away at my strings, making some terrible horror movie sounding music that matched my mood. “Yeah, I know.”

  7

  Open your eyes.

  Open your ears.

  You need to see.

  You need to hear.

  — We Are Librarians

  «HI, AVEN,» JOSHUA BAKER SAID TO me at my locker as Zion pulled some books out of it. Zion helped get my books in and out when he could since it took me so long and was a major pain in the butt.

  My stomach knotted up. “Um, hi?” Now he was talking to me? It was weird enough that he’d been giving me his soap opera faces for three days.

  “Hi, Zion,” Joshua said. “How you doing, man? I don’t think I’ve seen you since middle school.”

  Zion stood up and faced him, his arms full of my books. Zion glared at Joshua like he was a rattlesnake. “Don’t you mean Lardon?”

  Joshua seemed confused. “What?”

  “You usually call me Lardon.”

  Joshua grinned. “Man, no way. I would never say anything like that.” He turned back to me. “Can I carry your bag for you, Aven?”

  I said, “Sure,” as Zion virtually ripped my bag off me with one hand, nearly dropping my books all over the place, and slung it around himself. “I’m carrying her bag.” He dramatically stuffed my books into my bag and then gave Joshua and me a triumphant look.

  Joshua smiled at me, which made his blue eyes crinkle up in a way that made my belly do a little flip-floppy thing. “Okay, then. Maybe next time.”

  “Maybe next time,” I agreed.

  “Maybe no time,” Zion muttered as Joshua walked away. “I don’t trust that guy. People that mean don’t change.”

  I thought about Connor’s dad. “Maybe they do.” At least, I hoped so. And when it came to Joshua, I really hoped so because he was awfully cute. He had the bluest eyes ever. I wanted to stare at them for hours, trying to figure out their exact shade, but I wouldn’t do that because I would probably scare him. And of all the girls in school, Joshua seemed to like me. I didn’t think a boy had ever liked me, liked me before. It was all very exciting and mysterious. If only Zion would stop being his usual buzzkill self and let me relish the moment.

  “I don’t think I want to go to Comic Con as Kitty Pryde,” I said to Zion as we walked to class. “I want to come up with my own thing.”

  “Well, you better come up with something fast then. Do you want to go to the mall on Monday after school to look for a costume? They should have the Halloween store open by now.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “You don’t have a lesson on Monday?” Zion asked as we walked toward English class—the only class we had together.

  “No, I have one today.”

  “You still going to do the jump?”

  “Absolutely I am,” I said as we entered the English classroom. I took in a deep breath of relief. It was always wonderful to feel the cool air conditioning after being outside for any amount of time.

  “Can I come watch you?”

  “No way,” I said. “You have to wait for the show. It will be all the more climactic.”

  “It will be climactic today because it’s your first time.”

  “No, the roar of applause will really enhance the experience.”

  “What if no one comes for the show?” Zion asked, dropping my bag onto my desk and pulling out my English textbook.

  “Don’t even say that!” I shrieked. “You’ll curse it! Quickly, gallop around the room four times backward while rubbing your head and neighing like a horse.”

  Zion raised an eyebrow at me. “That removes a curse?”

  “No, but it would be really fun to watch.”

  “Aven, go right,” Bill, the trainer, told me after school. “Go right. Go right!”

  Sweat dripped into my eyes, blurring my vision. My helmet felt like a glowing hot anvil sitting on top of my head. I pushed on Chili’s side with my left leg and pulled to the right with my right leg. My stirrups were specially made with reins attached to them so I could steer Chili with my feet. “I’m trying,” I told Bill. “Chili is being too stubborn.” The horse was so darn hot underneath me that it made me think Chili was an appropriate name for her.

  “It’s not Chili.” Bill removed his cowboy hat and wiped at his sweaty forehead. I would have loved to remove my helmet and do the same. “You have to be firmer with her.” He placed the hat back on his head. “Push your left leg into her side. Use your strength.”

  I did as Bill instructed, but nothing happened. I think it must have been this heat. Neither Chili nor I could possibly be our best selves while we roasted in the searing sun.

  “Firmer,” Bill said. “You won’t hurt her.”

  I dug my heel into Chili’s side and she finally turned a little.

  “Relax, Aven. Horses can sense when you’re all wound up.”

  “I am relaxed!” I snapped.

  Bill scratched at his sweaty gray beard, which was like a foot long. I briefly wondered if all that facial hair helped keep him cooler, kind of like how a dog’s hair is supposed to help keep it cooler. Why did it feel like the sun was even hotter out here in the dusty arena?

  “How are we supposed to get to the jump today if you can’t even make Chili turn?” Bill said.

  Sweat kept pouring down my face, stinging my eyes, and with my boots and helmet on, I couldn’t wipe it away. I was starting to feel light headed, and I knew better than to attempt the jump when I might be dizzy. My heart sank. “It’s not happening today,” I said. “It’s just too hot.”

  “Aven.”

  “It feels like the sun is literally two inches from my face.” I narrowed my eyes down at Bill. “Two. Inches.”

  “That’s impossible since it’s ninety-three million miles away.”

  “I think the scientists had a bad measuring tape when they decided that. Based on how I feel at this very moment, I’m pretty sure it’s two inches.”

  Bill grinned. “This is your first Arizona summer. You’ll get used to it.”

  I gaped at him. “I feel like I’m going to pass out if I have to stay up on this horse. Then I will fall off. Then I will possibly die.” All I wanted more than anything was a cold glass of water to pour over my head. “Do you want to be responsible for my death?” I asked Bill.

  Bill shook his head. “I guess that’s enough for today.”

  Mom and Dad had taken me to meet Chili at a ranch at the start of summer. She was a mix of pinto and quarter horse, which was nice because she was a bit shorter than the average horse—which equaled a shorter distance to fall.

  I knew when we met her she was the horse for me. Maybe it was that we had the same eye color. Or maybe it was the cool spot on her side shaped like a cactus. Or maybe it was the fact that she’d peed all over Dad’s shoes. Whatever it was, I felt an immediate connection—kind of like my connection to Spaghetti.

  Chili had come to us already having been trained by voice command, but Bill and I’d had to teach her a few extra commands she didn’t know. She was getting good at the new voice commands, and I had to admit she was a smart horse. And I was smart for choosing her.

  “Down,” I ordered Chili, and she lay down on the groun
d so I could get off her by myself.

  Bill unsnapped my helmet and removed it for me. He pushed my sweaty, matted hair back from my eyes and forehead. “We’ll get it.” He smiled. “Don’t worry.”

  There were a lot of horse ranches within twenty miles of Stagecoach Pass, and Bill had come highly recommended. He owned his own horse-riding business in Cave Creek. Some of his horses were going to be in the horse show since Chili was our only horse, and Aven and Chili do not a horse show make. Several other ranches had signed up for the show once word got around about it. It was all voluntary; we couldn’t afford to pay them. But it would be fun and they would get good advertising for their businesses by being in our show. At least I hoped so. I hoped people would come to watch.

  After I helped Bill untack and brush Chili, I made my way through Stagecoach Pass. I enjoyed riding Chili. I mean, I would enjoy riding her a lot more if the air weren’t made of fire, but I still liked spending time with her. And I’d do the jump. No problem. I still had time. It didn’t have to be today, even though I was a little disappointed it hadn’t happened, especially since I’d now have to tell Josephine I hadn’t done it after all.

  I stopped to visit Spaghetti, which always cheered me up. But he just lay there, unmoving in this heat. He’d become less and less responsive to me all through the summer, and I hoped it was only the hot weather causing it. Maybe he’d perk up once it cooled down. I knew I would.

  I could only sit there with him for about one minute before I felt like I was going to die from heatstroke. “Sorry, boy,” I told him. “I can’t take it anymore.”

  I made my way to Sonoran Smoothies and pushed through the door with my hip. I was happy to see Trilby there. Trilby was my age, but because she was homeschooled she had a more flexible schedule and could work the smoothie shop in the late afternoons and on weekends. My parents rented Trilby’s family the space, so we really had nothing to do with it.

  We had rented out several spaces at Stagecoach Pass since our art festival—we now had a southwest jewelry shop, a pottery shop, and a sand art gallery. We were still trying to get a more casual sandwich shop going, but in the meantime, it was strictly the steakhouse for meals.

  “Hi, Aven,” Trilby said when she saw me. I was so enraptured at the feel of the air conditioning I couldn’t speak for a second. “You are red as a beet.” She laughed. Trilby always said whatever was on her mind no matter what it was. I kind of liked that about her.