Close to Famous (9 page)

Read Close to Famous Online

Authors: Joan Bauer

BOOK: Close to Famous
12.64Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Kids, put a lid on this,” Perseverance Wilson warned.
“You're fired,” Macon said to me.
“You can't fire me. I quit!”
And I was out of there. I tore off down the road.
Maybe the shame couldn't catch me.
Maybe if I ran fast enough, I wouldn't cry.
But I couldn't run faster than Garland. He caught up with me. “Hey, Foster. What just happened?”
I couldn't look at him. “I can't talk about it!”
“That's okay, I just—”
It's not okay! I ran down the road toward Fish Hardware and Mama.
I'm not stupid
, I told myself.
There's all kinds of things I can do.
But enough of me must be stupid if I'm twelve years old and I can't take notes.
My stomach muscles were cramping. I could see the hardware store ahead. I stopped running and walked toward it. The front window had paint cans, fishing poles, and an ugly hose.
A woman's hand reached into the window. I recognized that hand. Now more of her was in the window; she was taking out the paint cans.
“Mama!” I shouted, but she couldn't hear me. I knocked on the glass, and you should have seen her grin. Mama was always glad to see me.
She posed like she was a mannequin; then she picked up a paintbrush and held it up like she was the Statue of Liberty. I started laughing. Her eyes followed something coming up next to me.
“I'm sorry I fired you.” It was Macon.
I turned away. “You didn't fire me. I quit.”
“I'm sorry I fired you so you had to quit.”
He looked at Mama posed in the window. “What's your mother doing?”
“Working.”
Two men in gray uniforms were cleaning up the empty lot next door, picking up trash and putting it in bags. A man wearing mirrored sunglasses watched them.
“Those men are from the prison work release program,” Macon said.
The man in mirrored sunglasses shouted, “Duke, get those bags and we'll be done.”
Duke got the bags and threw them in a Dumpster near where we were standing. A bird was singing in a tree. “Sing it sweet, bird,” Duke told it. “You're free.”
A noise sounded like a distant siren. A large woman headed toward us.
“Oh, boy.” Macon cleared his throat. “Mrs. Dupree, how are you?”
“If the sound of that prison alarm isn't a call to right living, then I don't know what is. Just think what a life of crime can cost you. Locked up. No place to go. All your freedoms taken away.”
“I was thinking about that earlier, Mrs. Dupree.” Macon pushed me forward. “This is my friend Foster.”
“How do you do, dear?”
I've been better.
“Fine, thank you, ma'am.”
Mama winked at me from the window. Mrs. Dupree stared at her. I winked back. “That's my mama.”
“Really . . .”
“We're new in town.”
Macon had a strange expression on his face. “Foster, Mrs. Dupree is the—”
“You must be looking forward to starting school, dear.”
“Oh, no ma'am. Not one bit.”
Macon made a noise deep in his throat.
Mrs. Dupree stopped short. All of her seemed gray—gray hair, gray face, gray eyes. She took another glance at Mama and hurried off.
Macon threw his arms in the air.
“She's the middle school principal, Foster!”
I closed my eyes. Principals should have to wear a bell around their necks to warn kids they're coming!
We
so
cannot stay here.
I told Mama what happened and she
laughed
.
“We have to move,” I shouted.
She smiled. “There might be another solution.”
“I'm not going to that woman's school!”
“Maybe it's a good school.”
A voice from the back of Fish Hardware said, “It's a pretty good school.”
I moved closer to Mama and whispered, “I'd have to dye my hair and wear a mask so she wouldn't recognize me!”
“She'd recognize you.” Amy walked from the back carrying a screwdriver. “Look at this. It's electric.” The screwdriver whirred. “No more wrist strain. It's a must-have cool tool, don't you think?” Another whirr. “I want to put it on sale this Saturday and have free coffee and cookies to bring people in.”
Mr. Fish popped his head up from an aisle. “In this economy no one is giving anything away free.”
“Daddy, we have to listen to our customers. They want more.”
“We sell hardware. Let them get their own coffee.” His head went back down.
Amy sighed and looked at me. “Sorry. You were saying you'd have to dye your hair and wear a mask so Mrs. Dupree wouldn't recognize you.”
It sounded stupid when she said it.
Mama put her hand on my shoulder. “And I was about to say, I have every confidence Foster can handle whatever comes.”
Amy nodded.
Then Mama said we were staying here for the time being and I should feel free to make the best of it.
Amy nodded again.
Making the best of it was something Mama had been shoving down my throat since I could talk. She went back to clearing out the front window. Amy walked toward the back.
I had to do what I'd done in Memphis. There was no other way.
Thirteen
I'M HERE, WORLD, and I've got baked goods!
I stood outside Angry Wayne's Bar and Grill holding tight to my Bake and Take. Inside this carrier were six chocolate chip muffins and six vanilla cupcakes.
A sleepy dog lay by the screen door. Two red-headed boys were chasing something in the parking lot, laughing. I was about to go in when I heard a man shout, “You want to get me good and riled?” Then something hit the wall and a buzzer went off.
I jumped back. “
What was that?
”
“Our poppa,” the taller red-headed boy said.
A man in a uniform, wearing mirrored sunglasses, walked out. He held the door open. “Going in?” he asked me.
I nodded and walked inside.
Three men and a lady sat at the counter; not one of them looked happy. Stuffed fish hung on the wall. They didn't look happy either. There wasn't much to this long, thin place. The sausages on the grill looked good, though.
“You know what they did now, Wayne?” one of the men asked.
A man with red hair was standing at the grill. “Can my heart take it, Clay?”
“The prison's putting Tommy out of business. All those promises they were going to buy from him—just a pack of lies.”
Wayne's face got pink and splotchy. He reached down, got a rubber ball, and threw it at a buzzer on the wall that buzzed loud. The ball dropped into a net below. “They can't do that!”
“They're doing it, boy.”
“They're doing it,” the men and lady said.
I stepped forward, tried to have stage presence like Mama taught me. “Excuse me.”
They all turned to look. Angry Wayne flipped the sausages. “You lost?”
Sure feels that way, mister.
I missed Marietta Morningstar and her little pink bake shop.
“I'm new in town and I'm a baker and I was wondering, sir, if I could help you in the kitchen. You wouldn't have to pay me or anything. I'd just like to learn. I did this in Memphis.”
“Don't hire children,” he said.
“I understand. I just want to help.”
“Don't need no help.”
I looked around at the dead fish hanging on the wall. This seemed to be a popular decorating choice in Culpepper. My eyes stopped on a scratched, plastic box with boring sweet rolls inside.
I'd say you need help, sir.
“I brought some samples. I've got chocolate chip muffins and vanilla cupcakes.” I opened the Bake and Take. “Would you like to try one, Mr. Wayne?”
He sniffed, which might mean yes. The lady's eyes popped. “I haven't had a cupcake in I don't know when,” she said. “Are these free?”
“They're free today, but Mr. Wayne, I don't want to be a bother.” I figured he wasn't a cupcake man, so I handed him a muffin.
He held it up and studied it. This is what food people do.
“I use a touch of corn flour,” I told him. “Makes it chewy.”
He took a bite, and I saw a little sparkle in his eyes. He took his time chewing it—it was like he was moving it from side to side in his mouth. I've seen people tasting wine like that on the Food Network. He took a gulp of coffee, took another bite.
“You made this?”
I nodded. “It's got butter and—”
“I know what it's got. What else you make?”
“I make pumpkin muffins, apple cinnamon ones, banana bread, pineapple upside-down cake, cupcakes—”
“Vanilla cupcakes,” the woman whispered.
“I ain't deaf, Betty.”
“I need a cupcake.” Betty grabbed one and took a bite. “Oh, now I'm in heaven!”
The two men at the counter each took a muffin and gobbled it down. Betty licked every last bit of frosting off the paper liner like a little kid and put her hand over her heart. Wayne turned back to the grill and fried up some onions.
A man who looked like a policeman came in and sat at the counter. “What's good today?”
“Cupcakes,” Betty told him.
“Really?” He looked at what I'd brought. “How much?”
“Dollar,” Wayne said.
I coughed and motioned Wayne over. “You should charge more, sir.”
“Dollar fifty, Sheriff. Not a penny less for fresh baked.”
“Gimme two.”
I handed him two. They were gone fast. “This is a fine cupcake.” He brushed crumbs off his pants. “Heard Zeke got jumped at the prison. Wasn't paying attention.”
“Gotta pay attention,” the others said.
I looked down and couldn't believe what I saw. A huge spider with a black hairy body was crawling across the floor toward me!
I jumped back. “
Get it away from me! Get it away!
”
“Oh, Lord,” Wayne said.
The people at the counter shook their heads. The red-headed boys opened the screen door, laughing.
“Gotcha good!” the taller one said.
What?
“Barry and Larry, take that tarantula outside pronto!” Wayne shouted.
Tarantula?
I'd seen the Nature Network enough to know what that meant.
The other boy picked up the tarantula. “Come on, Jim Bob, off you go.”
“Works from twenty-five feet,” the other said happily, and showed me the remote control.
A remote-controlled tarantula? I tried to catch a normal breath.
“
Outside!
” Wayne yelled.
The boys ran off. I closed my Bake and Take.
“Don't get your britches in a bunch,” Wayne said to me.
I gulped and nodded. He went back to grilling. Betty reached for a cupcake.
“That'll be a dollar fifty,” Wayne told her.
“It was free a minute ago.”
“These were free?” the sheriff asked.
Wayne held out his hand for the money. “I'm a businessman, Betty.”
She put seventy-five cents in his hand and gave seventy-five cents to me.
“What's this?” Wayne demanded.
“Good business.” Betty ate that cupcake like it was the last one on earth.
“You want me to bring more tomorrow, Mr. Wayne?”
Everyone at the counter nodded.
Betty raised her eyebrows. “How much will you be paying this girl, Wayne?”
He thought about that. “Twenty-five percent of the take.”

Other books

The Visitor by Wick, Lori
Emergency Teacher by Christina Asquith
A Persian Requiem by Simin Daneshvar
The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir