Pack of Dorks (13 page)

“Ms. Drake also told us about your skirt splitting,” Mom said softly. “That must’ve been really embarrassing.”

I stared at the glob, but nodded a little. It was embarrassing, but nothing compared to what happened to Sam.

“How can we help you?” Dad asked. Uh-oh. Looks like they’re switching off to him being nice and Mom being mean. But when I looked up, neither seemed angry any more.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged.

“Being your age is tough,” Dad said. “I get it. I went through it, too. But it will get better. People grow up. They realize how they can hurt others. They change, and it gets better.”

“Will it?” I whispered.

“Of course it does, honey,” Mom said.

“Then why were you crying today?” I crossed my arms. “If things get easier—if people figure out how to be nice—why is everyone so upset about Molly? It’s because she’s going to get picked on, isn’t it?”

Picked on by jerks like Tom and Henry. Laughed at by jerks like me. Ignored by everyone else, especially those who were just trying not to be noticed themselves, like Sam. Everything—everyone—seemed so bleak.

“You were crying today? Again?” Dad turned on Mom. Her face flushed. I squirmed in my seat. What did I do now?

Grandma to the rescue. She waddled in on her thick, sandaled feet and sat at the table.

“We’re trying to keep this a family discussion,” Mom said to Grandma, an edge to her voice.

Grandma’s voice matched it. “Well, you’re doing a crap job of it.” She turned toward me, her mouth a firm straight line and her eyes blurry beads behind her smudged-up glasses. “Molly’s going to get picked on. You’re already getting picked on. Everyone in this world gets picked on at some point—some people more than others, some people less. A few protect themselves by being bullies. Some are able to ignore the bullies and embrace who they are. Those folks are rare. Everyone else struggles.”

“Well, that stinks,” I muttered.

Grandma’s round face wobbled as she nodded. “It does. I suggest you embrace who you are.”

“That’s a bit easier said than done,” Dad said. I didn’t think he was talking about me anymore.

Grandma lowered herself into a chair. “What you need is a distraction. You all need a distraction.” She turned her beady eyes on her own daughter. “And you need a hobby.”

“Molly is only a few months old!” Mom snapped. “I hardly have time to shower between feedings and diaper changes, let alone take up crochet.”

Grandma huffed. “No one’s talking about crochet. But you need some time to yourself. I have an idea.” She turned back to me. “You need to learn how to stick up for yourself without making yourself out to be an idiot.”

“Mom!” “Grandma!” Mom and I both shouted at once. Dad laughed.

Grandma continued like we hadn’t spoken at all. “I’m signing you up for karate.”

“No, thanks,” I said.

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Grandma replied. “I’ll bring Molly along when I take Lucy to lessons. That’ll give you two hours a week to yourself, to do whatever. Shower, maybe.” Her beady eyes raked up Mom’s sweatpants and pajama-top combo and her frizzy ponytail.

Mom flushed. “That’d be nice,” she murmured.

“We don’t have the money for karate lessons right now,” Dad mumbled. He shoved his hands through his hair.

“Lucy’s birthday is next month,” Grandma said. “Let’s consider this her gift from me.”

“Do I get any say in this?” I snapped. I had plans for my birthday; it was the one day I figured it’d be all right to break my don’t-ask-for-anything vow. Some new shoes, a couple new outfits, maybe some make up. Karate lessons were definitely not on the list.

Grandma got up from the table. “No,” she answered. Dad and Mom got up, too.

“Grrr!” I growled.

“Hi-yah!” Dad replied, karate chopping the air with his hand.

My life stinks.

Chapter Eleven

I stormed from the house, whipping open the screen door and getting ready to run to the creek until dinnertime. Maybe even bedtime. But instead I ran full force into April.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I wanted to tell you something! But I heard you get in trouble! So I just waited!”

“Were you listening?”

April nodded. “Karate! I want to take karate, too! Mom says I need an activity!”

“Great,” Grandma called out, who also seemed to be an expert at eavesdropping. “I’ll take you to class, too. We’re going to Miss Betsy’s Marital Arts.”

“Miss Betsy’s?” My confidence-boosting, life-salvaging karate teacher was named Miss Betsy? “How do you know Miss Betsy?”

Grandma, not moving any closer to the door, shouted, “Remember me telling you I wasn’t so nice when I was kid? Betsy was one of those kids I wasn’t so nice to. And then she started taking karate. Wouldn’t take any crap after that.”

“But doesn’t that mean that Miss Betsy is . . . old?” I asked.

That got Grandma moving. Her steps thundered toward the door. “What was that, dearie? I couldn’t hear you. Must’ve forgotten my hearing aids, given how much an oldy moldy I am.” She rolled her eyes.

“Grandma!” I snapped.

“Lucy!” she snapped back.

“Yay!” April clapped her hands. “Let’s start next week!”

“Classes are Wednesdays and Fridays. I’ll pick you up at five o’clock,” Grandma called as she walked back into the house.

“Grrr!” I growled but no one listened. “Why are you here?” I asked April again.

“Wolves!” she chirped.

“What about wolves?” I asked. Fighting to keep my tone so she wouldn’t see how annoyed I was, I added, “You don’t need to shout it. Just tell me. I’ll listen until you’re done.”

April’s eyes widened for a second. It was like she didn’t know how to speak with someone actively listening. Her mouth opened and closed like a guppy fish. Finally she said, “I wanted to let you know that my mom’s sister, Aunt Shelly, works at a wolf sanctuary. She actually lives there, too, like a caretaker. Mom says that’s why she’s so strange, living by herself with just wolves.”

She paused and looked at me. I nodded, and she continued, “If you want to go there sometime, Aunt Shelly said she’d give you and Sam a tour. So you could see real wolves.” She grinned. “It’s a couple hours’ drive from here.”

I grinned back. “That’s great, April! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

“All right!”

“All right!”

“Want to play?” I asked her. “At the creek?”

“Sure!” she said. “We can find frogs!”

Yelling was kind of a fun way of talking.

“Hold on a sec!” I called and ran back inside. I grabbed a travel pack of tissues from the bathroom closet. When I got back to the porch, I handed it to April. “Look, I like hanging out with you. But the nose picking thing—”

“I have allergies!”

“I know. But use tissues, April. Really. Our friendship depends on it.”

From the way she smiled at me, I knew her mind had caught on the word “friendship.” It made me remember when Sam first called me his friend that time in the library. I smiled back at April, and we ran to the creek.

Sam wasn’t in school the next day. I was itching to tell him about April’s aunt’s wolf sanctuary. Just thinking about it made me momentarily forget the whole splitting-my-skirt-and-yelling-at-everyone episode. Sadly, Tom and Henry did not forget. Neither did Amanda, who laughed hysterically and kept trying to give me fist bumps. (Side note: It took a long time for me to figure out that she was trying to do that and not punch me. I almost peed myself the first time her hand shot out toward me.) Henry made ripping noises as I sat down in my seat. Becky laughed her stupid girly laugh the whole time.

Ms. Drake clapped her hands. “Enough!” She smiled kindly at me, which, of course, only made everyone laugh harder. “Settle down, everyone.”

I spent the rest of the day staring at the back of Sam’s empty seat, and sitting alone on the monkey bars at recess and at our table during lunch. Part of me was worried about Sam. Maybe he really was sick? Another part was feeling a little angry that he abandoned me like this. But most of me was thinking about how cool it would be to have a selective hearing super power, so I wouldn’t have to listen to everyone around me hissing like flies. At least April walked home with me from the bus.

Sam wasn’t in school the next day, either. Or the day after that.

I tried calling his home, but his mom always said that Sam was taking a nap. But there was such a long pause between when she said she’d go get him and when she came back, that I knew she was covering for him. He just didn’t want to talk to me.

It was totally unfair! If he wants to be mad at me for seeing him in the locker room, fine. I mean, it was stupid of him, of course. But I could understand being that embarrassed. (After all, I was glad Sam hadn’t see the splitting of the sausage skirt incident.) However, he was still my partner for the wolf report and that made up a huge chunk of our grade. Plus, seeing the wolves up close at the sanctuary would be incredible.
Grrr!

“Loser!” Henry called over to me on his way to the pencil sharpener.

I only had time to gobble down a turkey sandwich and some grapes before Grandma picked me up on Wednesday for my first lesson with Miss Betsy.

“Do I really have to do this?” I whined.

She grinned. “Yup.”

“Mom?” I whined harder as Grandma herded me through the door.

“You’re going.”

Grandma made Molly wave a pudgy little hand goodbye to Mom, who looked way too happy to see her two little sunshines leaving the house.

April was waiting for us on her front porch. Even from the driveway, I could hear clanging, shouting, and a scream or two coming from her house. She seemed thrilled to see us; I guess she was looking forward to kicking and punching things.

“Who’s excited?” Grandma asked as she pulled into a parking spot at a little strip mall. A sign across the store in front of us spelled out: M
ISS
B
ETSY’S
M
ARTIAL
A
RTS
S
TUDIO
. Even the sign was lame.

But April chirped, “Me! I’m excited! Excited!”

“Double excited? Wow.” I get sarcastic when I’m full of dread. April didn’t catch on, though, and just smiled.

The studio smelled like gym class but I got a strange whiff of lilacs, too. I soon figured out why when Miss Betsy herself crossed the room. About a dozen kids, both younger and older than us, were already stretching on the huge, cushioned blue mat that spanned the mirror-walled room. Miss Betsy was decked out in a white karate uniform lined in black, a black belt cinched at her waist. Her lips were painted with pale purple lipstick and her hair matched. Seriously, her short curly hair was purple! That’s because she was old enough to have purple hair. I glared at Grandma, who seemed to be doing everything possible not to look at me.