Laughing, I reach for the hoop.
We stay up late, watching DVDs and checking out the henna kits. Who knew there were so many different types? Ready mix, paste, professional, and even a starter kit for kids. There are stencils, too, with swirling designs especially for hands and feet. While I’m loving the designs, Rory tosses them aside and sketches her own. She replaces my fairy-bird with a henna image of Toffee jumping through a hoop.
Our girls’ weekend continues with turtle races, Shakespeare’s Theater, and Swap Market. Toffee shows off some of her new dance moves and Rory is a hit with her henna tattoos. We score more swap-its than ever.
I’m so glad I had that great weekend, because things get really weird a few days later at school. I’m sitting at my usual table at lunch, pretending to be mad after Rory swipes my kettle cooked chips, when I get a “being watched” feeling. I look around to see if someone is staring at me. At the next table, two girls from my French class jerk away. Some guys at another table turn away quickly, too.
“Rory,” I whisper. “Am I paranoid or is everyone staring at me?”
“Not everyone.” The guilty look on her face sparks my suspicions.
“Do you know something I don’t?”
“Well, maybe. But I couldn’t help myself. Jack Quinn was doing his bookie thing and taking odds on who will win the talent competition. He’s giving Beatrice 2-1 odds, Katelyn 4-1, and you 30-1, which is just stupid because there are only twenty-five entrants. So I slapped him with some truth.”
I groan. “Please say you didn’t mention me.”
“I told him your act is unique like nothing anyone has ever seen before and you were sure to take first place. I just boosted your school rep a thousand percent. You should thank me.”
I cover my face with my hands. Jack is a social networking fiend who spills gossip faster than a flash flood. Give me a life jacket now.
But as it turns out, maybe I should thank Rory. By my last class I’m enjoying the smiles and thumbs-up from kids who usually hurry past like I’m invisible. Even Drew Nickerson, the hottest guy on the Brain Bowl team, stops in the hall to say he’s rooting for me. I had a secret crush on him in ninth grade and was working up the courage to talk to him – until Mom’s car accident. After that I quit the team and didn’t hang out with anyone except Rory.
But Drew acted like we never stopped being friends. Nothing romantic (not when I’m dreaming of Derrick every night) but it’s like a closed window inside me suddenly flung open so I’m seeing outside of myself. I assumed my old friends avoided me because of Beatrice’s rumors. But had I pushed them away first? I was so afraid they’d ask questions about the accident or worse – pity me. Was I the one shutting people out instead of the other way around?
I’m thinking on this while I walk home, wondering if I’m not as unpopular as I assumed. Or am I just the latest gossip topic and nothing has changed? I’m yanked from my thoughts, though, as I walk up the steps to my house and hear ringing from inside. I fumble with my key, unlock the front door, and am almost to the phone when Brutus and Cretin block my way, growling.
I grab a pillow from the couch and hurl it at them. It misses, but they turn tail and retreat to their room.
Too late. The answering machine clicks on and a male voice, polite but edged in hostility, says he’s from Castle Community Bank and that if Blake Montes doesn’t contact him immediately, the sheriff will deliver an eviction notice.
“OMG!” I gasp as the phone clicks off.
Eviction. As in losing the house or business, or both.
I call Blake’s cell, but it goes to voicemail. When I try Bow-Wow Boutique, his clerk, Cherie, says he’s busy and will call back later.
Shaking all over, I sink onto the couch, squeezing a pillow to my chest. Mom sewed this pillow, I think, rubbing my fingers over the uneven cross-stitching and aching for Mom to hug me and say everything will be okay. But she’s gone, and all I have is a stepdad fail. I’m so angry at Blake it’s like a fist of hate smacking my heart. He’s never there for me and now this.
So I send him a text:
Bank called.
Need to talk.
ASAP
He texts back: Late night. Don’t wait up.
When I wake the next morning, his car is already gone. I swear and stomp around as I get dressed, vowing to confront my stepdad, even if I have to storm into Bow-Wow Boutique and lasso him with a leash.
I’m stressing over the evil word “eviction” as I reach school and look for Rory. She isn’t at our locker waiting for me. Grabbing a few books, I slam the locker shut then head for homeroom. I find Rory there, in the middle of a group of girls, talking. When she see’s me, she rushes over.
“Have you heard the terrible news?” Rory’s tone is hushed like she’s at a funeral.
Have rumors about my pending eviction already spread around school? I clutch my textbooks to my chest like a shield that can protect me. “What news?”
“Poor Katelyn,” Rory says.
“Katelyn?” I glance over at the chair Katelyn always sits in. It’s empty. “Did she have an allergy attack?” We’ve all been warned not to even breathe peanut butter on Katelyn, her peanut allergy is so severe.
“Worst. Attack. Ever.” Rory shudders. “She’s usually so careful, but last night she was out for pizza with some friends and suddenly swelled up and couldn’t breathe. She was rushed to the hospital but…” Rory’s voice cracks. “No one has heard if she made it.”
I’m too shocked to speak. Katelyn is so nice that even though she’s gorgeous like a Barbie come to life and guys act stupid around her, you can’t hate her. And she might be dead?
By lunch the rumors are insane and the level of noise in the cafeteria is so loud I can barely hear Rory, until silence stills the room like someone pressed a mute button. Heads swivel to gape at a group of girls entering the cafeteria. I gasp when I see Beatrice, who never lunches in the cafeteria, flanked by Hannah and two girls I’ve seen around but don’t know. They sit at a central table, chairs scraping to make room for them. Beatrice smiles like royalty bestowing her honored presence on peasants, her gaze sweeping the room. Maybe it’s my imagination, but for a second she looks directly at me before normalcy returns with clattering silverware, shuffling feet, and noisy talk.
“What’s she doing here?” I have to raise my voice so Rory can hear.
“Not eating lunch, that’s for sure.” Rory purses her lips. “Watch out, Ashlee. Did you notice how she stared at you?”
“I hoped it was my imagination.”
“Nope, she stared hard enough to bore tunnels through your head. Beware, she’s up to no good.”
Before I can bite into my salami sandwich, “no good” arrives at our table. I look up to find Beatrice standing beside me. And she’s smiling.
“Hey, Beatrice,” I say warily. “I thought you were boycotting the cafeteria until it goes vegetarian.”
“The school board compromised and agreed to make one day a week all vegetarian. Didn’t you notice they’re serving tofu burgers?”
“That explains the gross smell. Lucky for me, I brought a bag lunch.” I gesture to my chips, juice carton, and sandwich. “I’m surprised you convinced the school to change the menu.”
“I always win.” Beatrice flashes a pearly grin. “I utilize the power of visualization and positive affirmations, and I hear you have some unusual power yourself.”
“Huh?” I gasp, reaching into my pocket for the reassuring bulge of my phone. It warms to my touch.
“Everyone is saying you have a powerful act,” she goes on with a breezy smile like we’ve been friends forever. “So I came over to wish you good luck.”
“You came over to wish me good luck?” My head spins, and I wonder what alternate universe I’ve suddenly landed in.
“Sure. I know the most talented entrant will win and I’ve been hearing great things about your act, except no one knows exactly what it is.”
“It’s s
uper awesome,” Rory raves.
My cheeks burn. I know Rory means well, but I wish she’d shut up.
“Mind if I sit down?” Beatrice doesn’t wait for an answer, elbowing Rory out of the way to sit beside me. “All the drama about the contest is exhausting. I can’t believe that sweet Katelyn is out of the competition. It’s so tragically sad.”
I nod. “Terrible. I hope she’ll be okay.”
“Oh, she’s not dead or anything. My friend who works at the hospital told me she’s out of danger but won’t be released before the competition. Such a shame.” Beatrice flicks her purple frosted nails as she sighs. “I was so looking forward to watching her perform.”
“I’m sure you were.” Not.
“Just last night at Pizza Joe’s, Katelyn was so excited about Talent-Mania, and when she sang karaoke, she blew everyone away. I was shocked when she suddenly couldn’t breathe, but I kept my cool and looked for her Epi-pen, only she’d left it at home. While everyone else was panicking, I acted quickly and called 911. Scary! To think that one little peanut could almost kill someone.”
I nod, imagining how easy it would be for someone – let’s say Beatrice – to sneak a tiny peanut into one of Joe’s cheesy slices.
Beatrice stands, flipping back her satiny hair. “I can’t wait to see your act, and I’m not the only one. Jack changed his odds so you’re now 3-1 for the win. Of course, I’m still 2-1.”
“Of course you are,” I say.
“As it should be.” She laughs like she’s joking. Only it’s no joke. I move protectively in front of my food, glad I don’t have a peanut allergy.
Beatrice turns to leave then exclaims “oh!” like she’s remembered something and spins back to me. “Almost forgot what I came over to ask you, about your Bee-Hive dogs.”
I cringe, memory jumping back to our first meeting at the kennel. “I didn’t think you were interested in Q-Bees.”
“Not me!” she snaps as if insulted. “You know I’m going out with the mayor’s son and am practically part of the King family, although Derrick and I aren’t officially engaged. Yet.”
His name shocks through me like high voltage, stealing my breath so I only manage a nod.
She giggles. “We’re like such a famous couple I’m thinking of asking everyone to call us BeaRick. Cute, huh?”
Gag me with a dirty sock and spit on my face. Please. Anything would be preferable to listening to Beatrice.
“It’s not me, but Derrick who’s interested in those Bee-Sting dogs your dad sells.”
“Stepdad, and they’re called Queen Bees.”
“Whatever. I told Derrick they’re annoying and smell bad, but he wants one because of some girl he met with a Queen Bee. He wants to find out more about the breed from that girl but doesn’t have her number. Since you raise those dogs, I figured you might know who she is.”
“I’d have to know more about her,” I say in a disinterested tone, but inside I’m jumping through hoops made of rainbows. Derrick doesn’t hate me! He wants to talk to me! Of course, he might only be interested in Q-Bees. But that’s okay, too. I can’t stop smiling.
“If Derrick doesn’t know her name, I sure don’t.” Beatrice throws up her hands. “I told him it was a waste of time. How can Derrick expect me to find some random girl? Sometimes I’m just too nice.”
Rory and I exchange glances but manage to keep straight faces. Does Beatrice have any concept that people exist for reasons other than as supporting players in her life? Probably not.
“I told him to look up the dogs online, but he’s determined to talk to that girl. But it’s only about the dogs, nothing personal,” Beatrice adds as if trying to convince herself. “When Derrick gets an idea in his head, all I can do is humor him.”
I hate the condescending way she’s mocking Derrick, like he’s a two-year-old asking for a new toy. If he were my guy, I’d listen to everything he had to say, and I mean really listen, so I can be the one who holds his hand when he’s sad, offers advice when he’s worried, and laughs with him when he’s happy. I’d never roll my eyes like Beatrice is doing, with a superior attitude that only proves my theory that she believes she’s queen of the world.
“Are you even listening to me?” Beatrice snaps.
“How could I not?” I retort.
“Derrick only knows the girl’s name—is Jane.”
“Jane?” Rory’s brow arches as she slams me with a “did you forget to tell me something?” look.
I shake my head, warningly.
“Not a common name, at least in this century,” Beatrice adds. “She’s supposed to go to our school, but I checked with my friend who works in the office and can’t find even one Jane. The closest is Janeece Lu, but she’s allergic to dogs. It’s like Jane doesn’t exist. She probably bought her dog from your dad, so could you check his records?”
“My stepdad’s business records are private.”
“Not for you,” she says as if challenging me to prove her wrong.
I fight the impulse to rise to her challenge. “Even if I was willing to look in his records, I’d need more than a buyer’s first name.”
“Would the dog’s name help?” Beatrice taps her purple-tipped finger to her chin. “Now what did Derrick call the dog? Truffle? Taffy? Some sort of candy.”
“Toffee?” Rory offers, and I almost smack her.
“Yes, that’s it!” Beatrice turns back to me. “Is that enough for you?”
Rory shoots me a wicked grin, which I ignore. I scrunch my forehead like I’m thinking hard. “Nope. We’ve never sold a dog named Toffee.”
This is absolutely completely true, but Beatrice narrows her eyes at me as if she smells deceit. “Are you sure?”
“More importantly, are you sure?” Rory interrupts, her eyes lighting up with mischief as she tilts her head toward Beatrice.
“About what?” If glaring was a performance art, Beatrice could claim her first place prize in Talent-Mania now.
Rory pauses to sip her mango juice. “About your boyfriend.”
“What are you implying?” Beatrice demands.
“Is he more interested in the dog or the girl?”
“Shut up, Rory.” I shoot her a dark look.
“I mean, he’s the son of the most famous guy in town and he could have any girl he wants, or maybe two.”
“Ridiculous!” Beatrice lifts her chin defiantly. “I’d take offense except I’m not the insecure type that’s threatened by other girls. Derrick is crazy about me.”
Yet he’s trying to find me.
“I have no problem if Derrick talks to other girls,” Beatrice protests a little too vehemently as she turns back to me. “Are you going to check your dad’s records or not?”
I don’t even bother to correct her this time. “I’d need the dog’s exact name. AKC registered names are long and usually different than what the dogs are actually called. Like my stepdad’s dog Brutus is registered as Whittingmeer Snowblood of Caesar’s Golden Sequins.”
“How do you get Brutus from that?” Beatrice asks.
“Et tu Brute?” I answer.
“The infamous knife in the back betrayal of Brutus to Julius Caesar,” she says with a nod. “Harsh way to end a friendship.”
I’m impressed she knows this, although I shouldn’t be surprised since she reads all those thick biographies and is besties with the librarian. She’d make a killer opponent on the Brain Bowl – not that she’d ever join an activity with the social equivalent of the chess club.
“If you don’t know the owner’s name or dog’s registered name, I can’t check the records,” I say in the business tone I use when I help customers at Bow-Wow Boutique.
“Well, Derrick can’t say I didn’t try.” Beatrice sounds relieved, like she’s done her “good girlfriend” deed for the year and considers herself a candidate for sainthood. She stands to leave, faking a sweet smile. “If you find out who the girl is, let me know.”
“Oh, I will,” I return jus
t as sweetly.
“And good luck in the competition, but be careful.” Beatrice pauses, resting her hand lightly on my arm, which creeps me out a little. “It would be a tragedy if something terrible happened to you like it did to Katelyn.”
“No worries,” I say sharper than I intend. “I don’t have any food allergies.”
Beatrice scowls then whirls off.
“Good riddance,” Rory mutters. “I’d rather eat tofu slimed in snot than suffer through another second of her verbal sewage.”
I smile, but I’m only half-listening, my thoughts whirling on a Derrick-themed thrill ride. OMG! He’s trying to find me! Has he been thinking of me like I’ve been thinking about him? Wouldn’t he be shocked to learn Beatrice’s old number is my new number and that he’s already texted me, only he didn’t know it?
I’m all tingly thinking about seeing him again. And I will on Friday night at Talent-Mania. Everyone knows he’ll be there with his parents since Mayor King is judging and giving a keynote speech. But will I be able to talk to Derrick alone? I hope so, because there’s so much I want to say. We’ll talk and I mean really talk, no more secrets. I’ll even tell him about getting his texts and that my name isn’t Jane.
If something does happen between us, something good like he asks me out, I won’t refuse this time. No flirty games, only honesty. Of course, he’ll have to be honest, too, which means ending it with Beatrice, the same girl who (I’m sure) maliciously put a peanut in Katelyn’s pizza, which could have killed her.
And I wonder….
What will Beatrice do if her “prince” chooses me?
“What is that useless creature doing in the best room?” asked the stepsister. “Away to the kitchen with her! And if she wants to eat, then she must earn it as our maid.” (Grimm)
When I get home the strong aroma of coffee leads me into the kitchen where I find my stepdad hunched over a coffee cup with the saddest look on his face. I don’t need to ask what’s wrong—the eviction phone message said it all.
“So it’s true,” I say as I sink into a chair across from him.
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