I'm So Sure (21 page)
I let this information marinate in my head. I must say, not a bad night out. Mission accomplished.
“This conversation bores me.” Ruthie yawns and picks at some chili on her shirt. “Can we talk about
me
some more?”
O
n Thursday morning I sit in the kitchen ignoring two camera guys. My head rests on the old table. It’s very difficult to eat oatmeal that way. But I’m not giving up.
Budge stomps into the room. “Do you know you have a blob of brown stuff on your nose?”
“My life is in the crapper.”
“I think it left a souvenir on your face.”
Sitting up, I wipe the oatmeal off my nose and glare. No job. No money. No prom dress. No idea what I’m going to do about Hunter. And I’m still getting to school riding shotgun in a car once used to transport dead people.
“Do you have any openings at the Wiener Palace?” Budge looks at me like I just asked if he’d like to light his computer on fire. “What? You wouldn’t even know I was there. I’m a good worker.”
“You’re a walking catastrophe, is what you are. Every job you’ve touched has exploded—some literally—in your face.”
I stare into camera one. “None of those things were my fault.” Okay, maybe a few. But when you find yourself putting antibiotic ointment on your face because a swarm of maxi-pads attacked you, it’s easy to get a little depressed.
Mom sweeps into the kitchen in black yoga pants and matching jacket. “Where is your brother, Logan?” She lowers her voice until it’s barely audible. “Lately we play this ridiculous game of hide-and-go-seek every morning before school. He hides, and I spend my time looking for him and running late.”
I stir my lumpy oatmeal. “I think he hates school.”
Budge smirks. “Who doesn’t?”
“Doesn’t anybody care that something’s going on with Robbie?” I whisper, hoping the cameras won’t pick it up.
Mom grabs a water and stands behind my chair. “Honey, we’ve had three meetings with his teacher. We’ve tried talking to him countless times, but he just says nothing’s wrong. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve consulted every parenting book I know.”
Before she started her community college classes, Mom read a
lot
of parenting books. She wasn’t exactly a major player in my upbringing. But I have to admit, she’s doing pretty well in her new role as mother. Except for the fact that she and her husband are totally striking out with Robbie. Something is up with him.
Thirty minutes later, my little brother is accounted for and ready for the bus. And I’m belted into the hearse, my head pounding with the music volume, and hoping my ears don’t bleed from the screamo. No wonder teenagers are so violent these days. I know
I’d
like to hurt someone. Budge swats my hand as I reach for the radio controls. I roll down the window, letting in the March breeze and sharing with all of Truman a little ditty called “Care Bears Wear Beards on Tuesdays.”
In journalism, Luke makes his rounds, then sits beside me. “Last week’s article on teen jobs was good.”
“Thanks. The research has been . . . memorable.”
His smile is oddly warm. “I think everything about your life is just crazy right now. It will settle down when the reality show is over. It has to be hard living with constant video cameras and seeing your picture on the cover of tabloids. I saw Budge’s picture in
People
last week
.
”
I mentally groan. In that same issue was yet another photo of me and Hunter. This one was from my last visit to New York, and Hunter looks like he’s about to kiss my face off.
“Luke, Hunter and I are still just—” Friends.
“None of my business.”
What if I
want
it to be your business?
“How’s Taylor?” I haven’t heard him mention his girlfriend in forever.
“She’s fine.” He drums his fingers on the desk. “Bella, I think we need to talk to Victoria Smith again.”
I think about our last visit with the bank teller and cringe. “Are you hoping someone will run us off the road again? Maybe hit the other side?”
“I want to ask her about Callie’s boyfriend. Maybe she feels like sharing information now. I’ve contacted her and arranged a meeting.”
“What?” I squeak. “We agreed, Luke. We’re a duet.
Not
a solo.”
“I didn’t hide it from you. Can you ride to Tulsa with me after school?”
I twirl my hair around my finger. “Fine. Pick me up at the house. If there’s a chance of being run off the road again and dying in a ditch, I need to change clothes.” I don’t have good underwear on.
When Budge and I get home, Jake is in the living room with Robbie. The big man paces the floor while Robbie sits like a statue in a chair.
“Do you know how
scared
I was when the teacher called to say you hadn’t made it to school yet?”
Budge and I don’t even pretend like we’re not listening.
“Robbie, you are never,
never
to walk to school. I know you don’t like the bus, but unless you can give me a reason you shouldn’t ride it, that’s our only option right now. Now I’m asking you for the last time, is someone picking on you at school or on the bus?”
I can barely hear his answer. “No.”
Jake gets down on his knees, eye level with Robbie. “Son, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you know I’d butt drop anyone who tried to hurt you. Please talk to me.”
We all lean in, balanced on tippy-toes of hope. Is Robbie going to talk?
He opens his six-year-old mouth. “Nothing’s going on at school. No one’s picking on me on the bus.”
Jake pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Go upstairs. And no TV. You’re grounded—again.”
As Robbie runs to his room, I notice a hint of red under his shirt.
“His cape.” I point to his retreating back.
“I know.” Jake flops into a seat. “He doesn’t wear it anymore.”
“Yes, he does.” I glance back at the stairs. “It’s under his clothes.”
Luke and I sit across from Victoria Smith in a Tulsa McDonald’s. She eats from the package of fries Luke bought her and keeps one hand on her triple-thick shake. It’s like she knows I’m totally lusting after her ice cream.
She looks like she’s lost ten pounds and is in need of more than a Happy Meal.
“I don’t know what more I could possibly tell you.” Her jittery eyes focus on the Playland behind us. “I’ve told you about the day I cashed the check at least ten times.”
“Okay, we won’t talk about that anymore.” Luke’s voice is as soft as puppy fur. “Victoria, do you know Joshua Day?”
“Joshua Day?” She bites on her straw. “Like, the senior from Truman?”
“Yes.” I nod.
“No, I don’t really know him. Why? What’d he say about me?”
Luke rests his hands on the table and tells Victoria what we know so far. “People are getting hurt at school—the girls running for prom queen. We just don’t want to see anything bad happen, and I’m sure you don’t either, right?”
“Right.” She drawls the word out.
I lean closer to Luke so I can talk.
Ignore his cologne. Don’t stare at his jawline.
“We think Joshua might know something about the incidents. Victoria, we would never reveal you as our source, but was he in the car the day you cashed the check? Did he threaten you to be quiet?”
“I—” She sets her shake down with a thud. “I have to pee.”
I look at Luke as she leaves. We’re, like, nose to nose. I slide down a bit and pretend to wipe some crumbs off my pants.
“You were breathing on my neck.”
I glance up. “Was not.”
His mouth curves upward. “If you had been any closer, we’d have been PG-13.”
“I guess I was just getting into the discussion.” My face must be as red as Ronald McDonald’s hair. “Sorry.”
His finger sweeps across my hand. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
A few minutes later Victoria returns. “I . . . um, have to tell you something.”
Luke and I both move to the center of the seat and lean in. If she came back to tell us the toilet paper was scratchy, it’s going to be a huge letdown.
Victoria stares at her hands. “I can’t say much, but I think you’re on the right track with Joshua Day.” Her voice seems to gain strength. “You
have
to keep me out of this for my own protection, but Joshua is the one who was behind those calls to cancel the caterer and banquet room. And Joshua . . . he’s been harassing the girls.”
“Have you been helping him?” I ask.
“No!”
Luke grips his Coke. “Was he the one who transferred the junior class’s money into Anna Deason’s account?”
“Yes. He’s brilliant at computers. He writes all sorts of programs.” Her eyes grow distant, as if she’s seeing him. “He’s great at fantasy. It’s reality that he has trouble with. But I love him anyway. Even if he won’t stop chasing her and—” Victoria clamps her mouth tight. “I have to go.” She jumps out of the seat, doubles back, grabs the shake, and bolts out the door.
We get back to Truman just in time for the opening of
Pile Driver of Dreams
. The crowd has expanded and somehow an even bigger flat screen has appeared.
Dolly sits with Mason in her lap and laughs at something he does. From a distance Mickey watches, his face impassive.
Luke and I grab the two vacant seats next to Lindy and Matt. Not that they notice we’re there.
“I just don’t see why I have to hear about your prom date from someone else, that’s all,” Matt says.
“So that’s what you’ve been so pouty about lately?”
“I thought maybe—”
“What?” Lindy barks. “That we’d go together? As friends. Like we
always
do things together—as friends.”
“
Best
friends. And I don’t even know this Newton guy.”
Lindy crosses her arms and jerks her head away. “You can meet him at prom.”
“You’ve been acting weird ever since you got that Match-andCatch form back,” Matt says. “Does it bother you that it paired us together? It’s not like I’m your brother or a cousin.”
She rolls her eyes. “Aren’t you?”
Luke’s whisper dances on my neck. “Lindy likes Matt?”
“You’re just
now
putting that together?” I
tsk
. “Clearly
I
have the sharper reporter’s instinct.”
Of course, right now my instinct is saying,
Luke, back up before I get the urge to do something crazy like feel your biceps or run my fingers through your hair
.
With many of Jake’s coworkers, friends, and fellow wrestlers, I tune into
Pile Driver of Dreams
. When the show turns to Jake, it shows him at work in the early morning hours. Some footage of him with Budge and Robbie. The family at church last Sunday. And Jake in his pirate garb taking someone to the mat.
“You’re on the screen, Bella.” Mom grins from across the room. Images flash of me having a one-woman fight with the pad machine. Me on the front steps with Hunter, staring intensely into his eyes. Mickey’s gym erupts into whistles and
ooohs
.
I shake my head and laugh it off. “It’s nothing!” I look up and find Luke watching me. He averts his gaze and returns his attention to the TV.
And it
is
nothing with Hunter. Nothing more than friendship.
And I’ve decided that’s all I’m going to let it be.
I think.
T
he week passes by so easily, I’m just waiting for the sky to fall.
Though lots of March rain, there’s no prom queen calamity, and Jake made it through again. Now it’s down to just him and Sanchez the Snake. In less than three weeks, the two wrestlers will go head to head. Or spandex to spandex. Wedgie to wedgie.
On this Wednesday morning, I sit Indian-style on the floor of the library at our Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting. Callie sits beside me, looking a little uncertain.
Today the speaker, a football player from Oklahoma State, spoke on forgiveness and letting things go. It started out kind of boring, but when he started playing the YouTube clips, I began to tune in. And Callie showed up, surprising us all.
“. . . And God tells us to forgive as he forgave. You know, Jesus didn’t hang on that cross just for you alone and just so you could forget it. We are to be Jesus to others. Are you still holding on to a grudge?”
About ten possibilities pop into my head.
“Are you still withholding forgiveness for someone who deserves it? How’s that going for you? Is it accomplishing anything?”
I think of my dad. Maybe I don’t like Christina because I’m still hurt he left my mom. Maybe Marisol isn’t
totally
awful. I guess I can’t show them Christ if I’m catty all the time. And Christina has made an effort with me.
“Think of family . . . friends . . .
former
friends . . .”
Ew. Mia. My BFF who stole Hunter. Okay, so Hunter was just as guilty. And I did forgive him.
I need to call Mia. Tell her it’s okay and just let it all go. Or I could talk to her when I go to Manhattan for spring break next week.
And maybe I should forgive Budge for flushing my MAC eye shadow down the toilet last month.
Nah. Let’s not go crazy.
After prayer, we’re dismissed. I stand up and stretch my arms. “How did you like it?” I ask Callie.
“It was good.” Her eyes flit over all the people in the room. “Thanks for asking me. It’s like after I got with Joshua, all my friends forgot about me. Except for Felicity.” She steps closer. “Bella, you know I didn’t do all those things, right? I would never hurt anyone.”
“I believe you.” And I do. I don’t even think she knows about her boyfriend’s misdeeds. But she soon will if Luke and I have anything to do with it.
Later in journalism, I stand behind Luke at his workstation. “Did you want to see my final draft?” I ask.
He minimizes an e-mail message, but not before I see his girlfriend’s name. “Um . . . yeah.” Luke takes my work from my hand. “Bella, this is good,” he says after some time. “Just like the job features, every article you’ve submitted about living with a reality show has been top-notch.”
I try to wipe the big goofy grin off my face, but fail.
“I’ve learned a lot about the wrestling business from reading your work.” Luke takes off his glasses. “Learned a lot about you.”
