“Your grandma loves you, Laura. She’s absolutely overjoyed about spending some one-on-one time with you. It’ll give you two an opportunity to grow closer.”
I keep pleading my case. “All she wants to do is talk about that ridiculous shack and the Laura Line. We don’t have one thing in common! And Mom, I’ll be miserable. Please, make some more calls. There has to be somebody else.”
A tear falls from Mom’s eye. Dad lowers his head as Mom shuts the door on my hope for a better solution. “There’s nothing I can do. I know this is a major surprise for you. Us, too.”
I frown. “A surprise? It’s the worst news ever! I’m trying to think of what I did that made you so angry that you’d sentence me to Grandma’s farm for two whole weeks!”
Mom stands. “You think we’re trying to punish you?”
I rub the side of my head. “It’ll be the same as being in Mrs. Jacobs’s history class after school and all through the night and every weekend! She’s talking about slave ships and slaves. Then I’ll come home and listen to Grandma talk about that slave shack and all the slaves buried behind it.”
Dad touches my back. “Laura . . .”
I turn to him. “I can’t even believe she still has that slave shack. Am I the only person who understands how shameful that is? I mean, ding! It’s embarrassing!”
Now it’s my turn to hold up fingers one at a time to make my point. “I’m talking slavery, shackles, beatings, jack-nasty floors, no bathrooms, no air conditioning, and no telling what else! I could never invite friends over, just because of the shack.”
Mom turns her palms up so I can see them. “Look, Laura, there is so much more to the shack than slavery. And there’s more to the farm than just the shack. Why don’t you give it a chance?”
I’ve got a bad case of angry, and if I don’t empty my mind, I just might launch into space. So I lose the glove and let it all out.
“My schoolmates already make fun of me. My nickname is Fat Larda! And I hate school. I bet that was the same feeling our ancestors had about that shack. Just like me, one rotten day after another. Now I have to spend my days taking abuse from my classmates and then go to the farm and spend my nights staring at the original school of cruel.”
Mom tugs at her blouse the same way I do, just to make sure it hasn’t risen on her. But then she lifts her chin in the air and smiles as if she’s proud.
“Is that who you are? Fat Larda?”
Just hearing it fall out of Mom’s mouth stings. I give her a quick answer. “No.”
She places her hands on my chin and turns my face toward hers.
“Then who are you?”
What kind of question is that for a parent to ask their child? Even though we’re still eye-to-eye, there must be a totally different answer she’s looking for, and I have no idea what that is. So I don’t answer at all. Maybe she’s going to answer it for me.
Mom’s face softens. “When I come back in two weeks, I want an answer. I don’t believe in coincidences, Laura. There’s a reason why this change of plans happened at the last minute.”
My voice gets louder than I intended. “I wanted Aunt Carmen, not Grandma!”
Dad drops his glove on the table and stands. “Okay, let’s take a breath and get back on track. Laura, I’ve listened to you and now it’s time for you to hear me. Your mom and I realize staying with Grandma is not your first choice, but right now, it’s your only choice. We know you’re not happy, but it is what it is and we need to move on. So tomorrow morning start packing, because on Sunday we’re heading to Killeen for two weeks and you’re going to the farm. This family meeting is over.”
The backyard is so quiet that I want to cover my ears. Mom takes her time crossing the yard, then slides the patio door open and steps inside. Dad taps me with his mitt.
“Come on, let’s finish throwing.”
I shake my head. “Not now, Dad.”
He hands me my glove and points to the grass. “Yes, now!”
The bass in his voice startles me. I scoot back and tromp across the grass to my side of the yard, clenching the ball in one hand with my glove on the other.
Dad stoops at the other end of the yard with his mitt open and ready. I wait for his pitch signal. He shows me two fingers. Normally that would be a curveball, but right now, he’s going to get something with a little sting to it. I wind up and throw as hard as I can with a loud grunt.
Umph . . . POP!!!
He takes his mitt off, checks his hand, and glares at me. “I called for a curveball. You must’ve missed the signal.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I hold my glove out for him to throw the ball back. He arcs one to me and then signals for another curveball.
Umph . . . POP!!!
He glares at me again and tosses the ball back without saying a word. For the next six pitches, I pound the inside of his mitt with heat, one fiery fastball after another. But just before the seventh pitch, my arm falls to my side as the ball rolls out of my glove and into the grass. My head bobs short nods as I try to stay in control of my emotions. But I can’t.
Dad rushes to me and holds my face to his chest as tears soak his jersey.
“There it is, Laura. That’s what I was looking for. Let it all out. And who knows, maybe this whole thing will be better than we ever imagined.”
I move away from him, open the patio door, and rush to my room. In less than an hour, this weekend’s outlook changed from blue skies with a 100-percent chance of awesome to hurricane warnings. I was counting on hanging out with my magnifica Aunt Carmen.
Instead, I get my loca grandma for two long weeks.
But the worst has to be that now, on top of keeping my regular secrets like the snacks in my backpack, baseball, and my love for Troy Bailey, I’ve got a big-time shack-shaking, joke-making secret to keep. I can’t believe this! I’m leaving a first-class house to live on a second-rate farm.
This shack has to stay under the radar. If I slip up, it could be my biggest mistake ever. I won’t let that happen. Heck to the tenth power of no way.
Chapter Five
Ever since dad showed me how to pitch, I’ve been hooked on the game. One day he ordered pizza and we watched the Astros play the Dodgers on TV together. I didn’t know any of the players from either team, so it was kind of hard to follow along. But those teams played three games against each other that weekend, and soon I began to recognize the players’ names.
The only people who know how I feel about baseball are Sage and my parents. It’s kind of like a superhero story: At school, I’m disguised as an exceptionally smart . . . uh . . . cool student. But at home, Laura Dyson stands in the backyard with her glove on one hand and throws fire and ice, depending on her mood.
Who cares? I reach into my drawer and grab my secret stash of mini Almond Joys. Dang. I’ve only got five left. They’ve got to last me. I throw the bag into my luggage, close the top, and sit on my bed.
Knock-knock.
“Come in.”
Dad peeks in and smiles. “You don’t have any baseballs in here to throw at me, do you? I mean, my hand is still stinging from yesterday. Besides, I brought you a peace offering.”
Dad hands me a tuna sandwich. I give him a half grin, take a bite, then shrug. “Thanks for the sandwich, but what about tomorrow’s Astros game?”
Dad closes the door and sits next to me. “Now that we’re taking you to your grandma’s house, that’s extra travel time to Killeen that we hadn’t counted on. Plus, your mother’s already upset about this whole change of plans. She’ll want to talk with you and with Grandma before we leave. That’s probably another hour or two lost. So—”
I interrupt him. “I’m not going, right?”
He puts his arm around me. “I didn’t say that.”
I perk up. “Then who’s taking me?”
“I think the game would be a great way for you and your grandma to get to know each other a little better. I mean, even though we eat Sunday dinner with her ever
y week on the farm, you don’t spend much time alone with her.”
I drop the sandwich back on the plate. “Because I don’t like sitting around listening to stories about that shack, especially when Grandma always stops in the middle of the stories and spaces out. It seems as if it doesn’t matter where the conversation starts, it always ends up about the shack or the Laura Line. And I don’t have a big-time crush on that stuff like she does.”
Dad nods. “I understand. But actually, your grandma’s looking forward to taking you to the game. Eat your sandwich.”
I take another bite. There’s a tell-all silence in my room, a stillness that says everything without a single word. The longer I stare at Dad, the more he shrugs. Finally he just kills the silence.
“It was her or nothing, Laura. I know she doesn’t understand the game.”
I interrupt. “She’ll fall asleep and snore ten minutes after ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’”
Dad tightens his lips and closes his eyes before answering. “Maybe not.”
But I keep going. “I’ll have to take her to the bathroom after every inning. And she’ll want coffee instead of a Coke like what we drink.”
Dad puts his arm around me. “There’s nothing wrong with coffee. Let her have it.”
“She’ll complain about the prices and probably try to give her coffee back, right in front of everybody. I’ll be so embarrassed, Dad. Maybe we just shouldn’t go.”
He hugs me closer. “Listen, Laura, you’re the only person I know who understands the pitchers’ duel that’s going down tomorrow. Don’t let your grandma stop you from seeing that! Plus I want a play-by-play report from you. Now eat that sandwich, then finish packing. I love you.”
I put my head on his shoulder. “Love you, too.” Reality comes in the form of pain as I think about how much I’m going to miss him and Mom. And I don’t even have enough time to deal with it.
Early Sunday morning, Dad takes the last of my luggage to the car, but I don’t follow him. I’m staring at myself in the mirror, dressed in my classic orange, yellow, and red striped Astros jersey, jeans, and orange Sketchers to pull the outfit together.
But I’m not excited, and it shows in the mirror. How pathetic am I that I would agree to go with my grandma—who knows nothing about baseball—just to see a game.
Mom calls out to me. “Let’s go, Laura. Your dad and I have a long ride ahead. It’s going to take us thirty minutes just to get to your grandma’s house.”
“Coming.” I grab my glove, leave my bedroom, and close the door. This is so wrong.
I’m surprised when Mom opens the door behind Dad and sits next to me in the backseat. She gives me a smile and I force one back. As Dad drives down Main Street, my eyes fix on Wildflower Mall. I put my hand to the window, wondering how long it will be before I shop with Sage again. Will new stores open while I’m gone? Will my favorite stores close?
Then we pass the movie theater. A whole new loss rumbles in my stomach. Does Grandma even have cable? Now that I’m thinking about it, I wonder what Grandma cooks during the week. I’ve been to her house for family dinners when she had pot roast or barbecued ribs, but what does she cook on Mondays? Or Tuesdays?
I unzip my backpack and grab a pack of gum. Mom’s looking at me, so I offer her a piece, and she takes it. Even though it’s just a simple piece of sugar-free spearmint, it’s the one thing we can agree on right now.
Soon the city fades to open spaces of nothing and the speed limit lowers to forty.
I think that speed change is a slick way to warn people of what’s ahead. But to me, there are three monster clues for city folk to realize they’ve just entered a time-travel rewind:
1. The street name changes from Main to Ennis Trail;
2. The speed limit drops again, from forty to twenty; and
3. Instead of two lanes, we merge into one wide strip of asphalt with no yellow line down the middle to divide the traffic.
The beautiful buildings disappear. Now wooden fences line the road. Stop signs replace traffic lights. Since we’re only going twenty miles an hour, it feels as if we’re driving in the longest school zone ever. While Dad rolls to a stop, I look out of my window in time to watch a cow stick its tongue inside its nose and glare at us like we’re the gross ones.
Soon, Dad makes a turn off of Ennis Trail to Chapel Lane. The smooth asphalt turns to loose gravel. And that’s when it hits me: Down this gravel road is where I’ll spend two weeks of my life that I’ll never get back. And the more Dad’s tires crunch that gravel, the more it feels like it’s me under those tires, getting crushed and broken into little pieces of nothing.
Mom presses a button and her window slides down. “Mmm, I love the smell of country air. It brings back so many memories.”
Dad inhales. “Doesn’t it smell wonderful, Laura?”
I cover my nose and Dad pulls over into the grass on the side of the gravel road and turns off the ignition. Both he and Mom turn to me. I slide my hand off my nose.
“What? I didn’t say anything! What’d I do?”
Mom speaks up. “Laura, honey, you’ve made it crystal clear that you don’t want to be here. We get it. But your dad and I need you to be strong. We need to concentrate on our military exercises. Do you understand that?”
I lower my head and nod. Mom continues. “We can’t be worried about whether you and your grandma are getting along. You’ve got to promise me you’ll try your best.”
“I promise.”
Now I feel worse. Here they’re going to learn more about how to protect the United States and I’m trippin’. So I fake a smile until their expressions change from sad to glad.
“Okay, I can do this. I mean, it’s only two weeks, right?”
Dad starts the ignition, then holds out his fist for me to bump. “That’s my girl.”
Mom leans over and kisses my forehead. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
When Dad gets back on the gravel road, I gaze out the car window. The more I look, the more I realize this place isn’t really a farm. I’ve read enough books like Charlotte’s Web and Click-Clack-Moo to know that animals make a farm. But I don’t see any. And it’s too quiet.
Rusty barbed-wire fencing sags from the wooden posts like double Dutch jump rope. With no cattle, no crops, and no tractor, there’s really nothing left to even justify this place as anything but a bunch of wasted space.
But I have to say the grass looks great. It always does. For a fake farm, the manicured acres help a bunch. And there’s the shack. I turn and look away, but my brain’s already taken a snapshot. Even though I’m not looking at it, I can still see it in my mind.
We’ve reached the top of the hill, and Grandma’s old brown Buick rests under a big oak tree. There’s a shiny black Jeep Cherokee parked next to her car.
What the what? Grandma’s got company? Is she kickin’ it with somebody? Mom’s going to flip out if she is. Dad eyeballs the SUV as we roll by.
“Honey, you recognize that Jeep?”
Mom shakes her head. “No, I don’t know who it belongs to. But I’m going to find out.”
Sweet Sister of Secret Hookups! Grandma’s got a boyfriend! When Dad stops, I can’t get out of the car fast enough. I open the screen and turn the knob on Grandma’s door. It opens, and I enter the room, hoping to bust Grandma doing something she shouldn’t be doing. I’m grinning to throw off my true intentions.
“Hey, Gr . . .”
Sitting at Grandma’s table, dressed in a white blouse, jeans, and boots, is the absolute last person I’d expect to see out here. The rumbling in my stomach turns sour and I accidentally swallow my gum. Grandma shuffles over to me.
“Baby Girl, I’m so excited about you staying here with me. And I’m sure you know my friend Edna. But you call her . . .”
Dad stumbles in with four of my bags. “Sorry we’re late. . . .”
Once he makes eye contact with the woman at the table, his head tilts, and that’s exactly how I feel when
he asks the question that I already know the answer to.
“Aren’t you Mrs. Jacobs, my daughter’s history teacher?”
Chapter Six
Mrs. Jacobs’s smile is blinding.
“Hey there, Laura!”
I’m numb dumb, staring at my history teacher like she’s an alien. Has she seen the shack? Does she know it’s out there?
“Uh, hi, Mrs. Jacobs.”
She reaches for Grandma’s hand and answers the question that’s in my head.
“Bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here! Me and Laura Lee—I mean your grandmother—have been friends since second grade. We’re just so busy that we don’t get to see each other as much as we’d like. But we do lots of things together. Today we decided to have brunch so we could finish some business we’re working on.”
Grandma adds, “That’s right. Edna and I have been friends a long time. We were even pregnant at the same time.”
I feel that wad of gum practically bouncing back up my throat.
Boing, boing, boing.
Mrs. Jacobs butts in again. “That’s right, that’s right. Plus your grandma was the maid of honor at my wedding and I was the same at hers.”
Grandma grins. “Sure was.”
I can’t take much more. “Oh, that’s really . . . Grandma, where can I put my things?”
She points down the hall. “I thought it’d be fun for you to stay in your mother’s old bedroom.”
I give her a thumbs-up. “Awesome.”
The walls leading down the hall are painted a green I’ve never seen in any crayon box. It’s not gross green or even puke green, but it definitely belongs in the sick-green family. I step inside the bedroom and find that same color of paint on the walls.
I drop my backpack on a small desk not far from an old-timey mirrored dresser. The bed against the wall is much smaller than my queen-size one at home. But there’s a window with pretty lace curtains that cast a shadow from the sunlight, and I’m hoping my view will be a billboard on a far-off freeway or maybe even the tall sign of McDonald’s. I pull back the curtains and immediately wish I hadn’t.
The Laura Line Page 3