“Laura? Did the Astros win? I was listening on the radio but lost the signal.”
My heart’s still racing, but I manage to catch my breath. Then I roll my eyes thinking about what happened at the ballpark. “We left early.”
“What?”
“Grandma hid pork chop sandwiches in her blouse, and we got kicked out.”
I can tell he’s covered the phone with his hand. I think he’s laughing but I’m not sure. Finally, he moves his hand and talks to me.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Hang in there. Training exercises begin for your mom and me at oh-six-hundred hours, so I’ve got to go. Don’t forget to throw. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Dad. Tell Mom I love her, too. Bye.”
I flop across the bed. This has been the worst weekend ever. And my forecast for tomorrow is a 100-percent chance of the same as today. I’ve got nothing in common with my grandma. And on top of that, I’ll have to hike across the world to the bus stop, all the while avoiding anacondas and probably bears, too.
But no matter what happens, I’ve got to try to keep my promise. And I can do it, because I learned a lot about myself tonight. If I can leave a baseball game early over a pork chop sandwich without causing a scene, there’s absolutely nothing that can shake me.
Chapter Eight
“Mornin’, Laura.”
Grandma’s voice reminds me where I am as I walk into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Grandma. Bacon smells good.”
“Pull up a chair. I’ve got scrambled eggs, bacon, homemade biscuits with apple butter, and fresh-squeezed orange juice.”
Sweet Brother of Breakfast Buffets! “I don’t eat like this at home. Mom leaves so early.”
Grandma sips her coffee. “If she had time, your mom would cook like this, too.”
I stab a forkful of eggs. “So you’re saying Mom knows how to throw down like this?”
“Of course! It’s in the Line, Baby Girl. One of the first Lauras, Laura Belle, owned her own restaurant. People crowded her place, especially on Sundays after church. She left us some of her secret recipes. They’re in the shack. You should check it out.”
Did I just walk into a shack trap? I keep eating without looking up. “Uh-huh . . .”
Grandma keeps on. “Just in case you ever want to take a look at it, the ledger of the Laura Line is in the shack. I don’t ever take it out.”
I pick up my orange juice. “Uh-huh.”
An invisible wall rises as silence lurks between us. I rush to finish my breakfast.
“Thanks, Grandma. That was awesome.”
She nods. “You know, Laura, if you’re scared about going in the shack, I’d be . . .”
I should have known this breakfast had a catch. But I didn’t see it coming. I push back from the table, because now is as good a time as any to take a stand.
“Grandma, I don’t want to talk about the shack, okay? I’m . . . I’m just not interested.”
There. I said it. I’m expecting a fight, but instead, she nods and smiles. “I understand better than you think I do. And it’s okay. But I want you to remember that it’s never too late to learn something new. I’ve just got a feeling today is going to be special for you. Do you want me to make you a lunch?”
“No, I buy my lunch at school.”
I keep looking at her. Is it over? Did we argue? I feel like I’m wearing boxing gloves for a marshmallow fight. And she’s smiling at me! What the what? And how does she know my day is going to be special? I don’t know what to say, so I just back up toward my room. Grandma calls out to me.
“Wear flat shoes for that walk to the bus stop!”
I’m out of the house in no time, wearing my flats like Grandma suggested, but I can feel every pebble underneath my soles. I don’t need flats; I need Mom’s army boots.
It’s only been a few minutes, but I’m breaking a mist tromping through this gravel. I’ll be all sticky before I even get to school. Between the trees, I can see the shack. I’d recognize that ugly wood anywhere. But I slow down when I see the six crosses behind it. The sun shines on them like spotlights, as if they were some big-time movie stars.
But they weren’t.
If the Laura Line was all that, everybody would know about them. I’d be Laura of the famous Laura Line instead of just Fat Larda of the infamous nobodies.
Mom was right about one thing. It took me fifteen minutes to walk from Grandma’s house to this mailbox, and here comes the bus. Brakes squeal to a halt, the doors open, and the driver smiles.
“Mornin’.”
“Hi,” I say.
I recognize the driver, but I’m too tired from the walk to care. I’m the first person aboard, and I get to pick where I want to sit. I choose in the middle so I can see everybody when they get on. I’m looking all around, as if this bus may have something different from mine. Then my eyes freeze on a spot. Above the driver’s head, I see the number.
189. That’s Sage’s bus. And . . .
Up ahead a boy with a backpack walks toward a mailbox as the bus slows down. I recognize that strut and smash my face against the window to get a better look. Could it . . . Yes!
It’s Troy.
I smooth my hand across the top of my head to make sure I don’t have any strands sticking straight up in the air. Do I have farm frizz? I check my shoes for gravel dust. I’m sure I look a mess.
The bus stops and so does my heart. And when Troy climbs the steps and stands near the driver, I hear an orchestra play a love song.
Do I have lip gloss on? I’m so worried about how I look that it takes a second for the real fear to creep into my brain.
Does he know about the shack?
The bus driver greets him. “Mornin’, Troy.”
Troy bumps fists with the driver, then heads down the aisle. He hesitates when we make eye contact, but he doesn’t speak. So I do.
“Hi, Troy.”
He nods, says, “Hey,” and keeps walking.
My left knee bounces as I wipe mist from my forehead. Okay, did he say “hey” or “hi”? Did he mean it or was he just trying to be polite? Sweet Mother of Chocolate Hunky Chunkies, he looked right at me!
I get more looks as students get on. It’s as if I’m the new kid . . . or a zoo animal. But when Sage gets on the bus, everything changes. I see her from my window, standing in line behind a bunch of popular students, including Sunny Rasmussen. I’m so busy looking at Sunny that I don’t notice Shane Doyles coming down the aisle.
“What are you doing on this bus, Larda?”
I frown at him. “Sitting. Isn’t that what you should be doing?”
He strolls toward the back and hollers, “Yo, Troy, we got a hippo on the bus!”
Two weeks of Shane Doyles’s mouth may be more than I can handle. But I forget about him when I see Sage make her way up the steps. She turns sideways and shuffles down the aisle because her hips are too wide to walk the regular way without touching people. As she scoots down the aisle, she jiggles a bit, and kids exaggerate moving out of her way. I watch the reaction of guys and girls after she goes by them. They stare, point, and snicker. Did they do that behind my back on my regular bus?
When our eyes meet, Sage moves faster down the aisle, talking as she makes her way to me.
“What are you doing on my bus? Where’s your aunt Carmen? Did your parents leave? I’m completely blown away seeing you here. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I grin. “Surprise! I like this bus, considering where I’m living these days.”
Sunny catches my attention near the front of the bus. “Is that Fat Larda?”
“The name’s Laura,” I say, then move my stuff so Sage can sit.
Sunny rolls her eyes. “You don’t live in our neighborhood now, do you?”
She doesn’t wait for me to go off on her. Instead, she strolls to the back.
Sage puts her backpack in her lap. “Okay, back up a minute. What do you mean by ‘where I’m living these days’?”
I fi
ght an urge to cry. “Aunt Carmen was a no-show. I’m staying with Grandma.”
Sage’s eyes widen. “No way. Are you all right?”
I shrug. “I think so. Did I mention that I have to walk to the bus stop?”
Sage’s eyes widen. “Down that long gravel road? You poor thing!”
I dig deep into my mental database for a comparison Sage would understand.
“It’s like I started at Macy’s in the mall, hiked all the way down to Penney’s, turned around, and walked to the food court, all without stopping.”
Sage tries to cheer me up. “Well, maybe it’ll help you lose some . . . you know.”
When the bus pulls up to our school, Sage and I stand to move into the aisle, but no one lets us out. So we have to wait for everybody, including all the guys from the back, to get off. I sneak another look at Troy when he passes, and I think he looked at me! Once we’re off the bus, Sage and I walk inside and down the hall toward our restroom.
Just before we turn the corner, I spot Mrs. Jacobs. She waves, and I give her the limpest wave back. When she steps inside the teachers’ break room, I pick up my pace. Sage tries to keep up.
“What now?”
I wait until we’re inside our restroom before I break the news.
“There’s something else I forgot to tell you. Yesterday when I got to my Grandma’s house, Mrs. Jacobs was there. Turns out her and my Grandma are the world’s original BFFs.”
Sage closes her eyes. “Shut . . . Up.”
I unzip my backpack and search for my lip gloss. “I know, right? What are the odds?”
Sage puts her hand on my shoulder. “Relax. Don’t worry. I got your back. You’re probably all hyped up for nothing. But I’ve got a major secret to tell you.”
I find my lip gloss, hold it in my hand, and turn to Sage. “Spill it.”
Sage begins to pace. “I was standing at the bus stop this morning with Sunny, and she asked me if I’d be interested in joining the Pink Chips.”
I flip my wrist at her. “They’re nothing but a bunch of fakes.”
Sage puts a hand up. “That’s not the point. They own this school. And now I’ve got a shot at being popular! And if I make it, we can finally add people to our group of friends.”
Even though I don’t want it to be the Pink Chips, just the idea of other girls hanging out with us sounds great. But then a major question pops into my head, so I ask it.
“I’m not trying to be ugly, Sage, but do you know why they asked you?”
Sage talks with her hands. “Well, this morning, Sunny mentioned the Pink Chips needed a personal photographer. And if I was in their group, they wouldn’t have to pay for those really expensive pictures at the mall.”
I can’t control how wide my eyes open. “What?”
Sage puts her hand on my shoulder. “Wait. She’s right! Those pictures are expensive! Sunny said after I’ve been a member for a while and get to know them better, she thought I might do a few articles in the Crier about them. I can do that!”
“Sage . . .”
She can’t hear me because she’s already making plans.
“Laura, I’m going to need your help. You think I should do something different with my hair? I’m definitely going to need a couple of new outfits so I won’t look . . . you know.”
I shake my head. “You can’t be serious! Think about it, Sage. You live in the same neighborhood as Sunny, ride the same bus, go to the same school, and she didn’t even know your name. I hope you told her to take a long leap off a short bridge.”
Sage frowns at me. “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you be happy for me? For the first time ever, people won’t call me . . . you know. They’ll see me as a Pink Chip.”
I exhale. “Sage, all I’m trying to say is—”
She gets louder. “Sometimes you can be so selfish! I’ve always got your back. Now the biggest thing ever happens for me and you shoot it down. Maybe you’re just jealous!”
She tromps out of the restroom. I call out to her. “Sage, wait! That’s not true!”
I rush a coat of lip gloss across my lips just as the warning bell rings. It’s not the first warning that’s sounded in my head today. Between Grandma, Mrs. Jacobs, and Sage, I’ve got enough drama to last forever.
And none of it feels special.
Chapter Nine
I eat lunch alone. Sage is a few tables away, sitting by herself, too. I can feel her looking my way and I want to apologize even though I haven’t changed my mind about the Pink Chips.
I need chocolate.
So I pick up my tray and head for the conveyer belt. I’ve got time to go eat an Almond Joy somewhere. On my way, I spot Troy sitting with his friends. It’s a table full of Blue Chips, which is the guy version of Pink Chips. Just as I put my tray on the conveyer belt, I hear him say, “. . . Fat Larda on our bus and Shane yelled . . .”
Our eyes meet as his friends pound the table laughing. I rush out of the cafeteria and hurry down the hall to the restroom Sage and I use, fighting tears and wondering what the heck is wrong with me. I like Troy so much it hurts.
He’s the reason I come to school every day. Even though I know I’m going to get teased and talked about, I show up just to see him. I think I might like Troy more than I like myself.
I’m in the restroom only seconds before Sage comes in.
“Laura! You okay? Why’d you rush out of the cafeteria?”
“I didn’t feel well.”
We stand in front of the wall-long mirror and stare at ourselves. Sage holds her brush, but she’s not using it. I bet we’re thinking the same thoughts. We definitely have the same sad expression. Look at us: two overweight girls, wishing we weren’t. And my doctor claims I’m perfect. He says on the growth and weight chart I’m at the high end of normal for girls my age. Sage doesn’t talk about her doctor visits. And I don’t ask.
The bell rings and I turn to her. “Look, about this morning . . .”
She raises her brush and tames a few hairs on my head.
“Forget about it. You know I can’t stay mad at you. We’ll talk more later.”
She turns to me, and I put my hand on her shoulder. She puts her hand on mine and says, “I will always . . .”
I finish it. “. . . have your back.”
We wipe imaginary dust off each other’s shoulders and giggle.
Sage leads the way out. “See you after school, Laura.”
“Thanks, Sage.”
After working in the office during fifth period, I step into Mrs. Jacobs’s class and wait for Troy like I always do. When he steps in, he looks my way but quickly turns his head. I try to let him know that I’m not mad at him.
“Hi, Troy. Crazy Monday, right?”
He gives me his regular response. “Hey.”
As everyone begins to file in, I notice Troy staring out the window. Sunny is talking to London, another Pink Chip, and everybody else is texting.
When the bell rings, Mrs. Jacobs writes the names of those four children—Kali, Teme, Kagne, and Margru—on the board. To me, that means the Amistad is still afloat. I’m so sick of hearing about slaves and fights, especially since I’m living next to the shack now. And that shack makes me think how terrible life had to be for my ancestors.
How many times did they go to bed hungry? How often did the slave owner come inside the shack and beat them with a whip? How many times did they cry themselves to sleep? But the biggest question has to be:
Why would Grandma keep this shame shack and try to play it off as something great?
I wonder if any of them died in there.
My thoughts get the best of me and I raise my hand.
“May I go to the restroom?”
Mrs. Jacobs checks her watch. “Hurry back.”
I rush out of the room and down the hall. I waste as much time as I can, getting a drink from the fountain, peeking into other classrooms, and spending a few minutes in the restroom.
I take my sweet time goin
g back. While I’m in the hall, the air conditioner kicks on and the breeze blows my hair. A few strands from my pigtails come loose and the air waves them back and forth across my forehead. I wonder if I resemble one of those models on the magazine covers, looking all awesome with random strands of hair dancing in the wind.
All the Pink Chips have hair that blows with the slightest breeze. And I’ve noticed when their hair is blowing, they walk differently and even make diva faces. When I become a big-time fashion model, I’m going to walk differently, too. Hey, what’s wrong with practicing?
Maybe if I pooch my lips and tilt my head back a little, I can vogue as I walk by the trophy case glass. Oh, yeah, look at me on the catwalk, modeling an outfit from Paris . . .
Boomph!
I fall off the runway and land back in front of the trophy case, fuming that someone ruined my imaginary modeling debut.
So I blast them before turning around. “Why don’t you—”
Troy finishes my sentence. “Watch where you’re going!”
I open my eyes.
“Oh, sorry. I . . . I didn’t see you.”
He rubs his arm. “Obviously.”
Troy’s talking to me! I scramble for something to say. I’ve got to keep him talking.
“Where are you going? Bathroom break?”
What the what? I can’t believe I just asked him that.
He holds up a yellow slip. “Office visit.”
I shift my weight to one leg and smile. “What’d they get you for?”
He walks by me. “Picking up the house key my Dad left for me. Is that a crime?”
I’m feeling lower than a pregnant snake right now, but then Troy really rattles me.
“Mrs. Jacobs is making some big announcement as soon as I come back from the office. She said if I saw you, I should tell you to hurry up.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Is she retiring? I rush back to class. Mrs. Jacobs looks my way and goes fluent in Eye-ish. I understand completely and apologize with some Eye-ish of my own.
Soon, Troy returns. When Mrs. Jacobs looks away, I pop an Almond Joy into my mouth. There’s nothing better than a yummy chocolate snack during a good show. But now I only have four Almond Joys left. If I had known about this earlier, I’d have stashed a bag of popcorn next to my jewelry pouch.
The Laura Line Page 5