Sammy Keyes and the Wedding Crasher (5 page)

Something crashed in the background.

“Uh-oh, gotta go!” she whispered, and left me hanging again.

The third time it was, “Mikey and I ran away to Hudson’s. Can you come over?”

“You ran away?”

“Well, my mom knows where we are.”

I rolled my eyes, because until recently Marissa’s family had a nanny, a maid, a gardener, and a grocery service, and running away would have involved a limo. “Did she drive you?”

“No! I just called her when we got here so she wouldn’t worry.” She hesitated, then said, “Are you making fun of me? Because we’re in crisis mode over here, in case you haven’t noticed!”

I mumble, “Sorry,” then say, “Look, we’re kind of in crisis mode over here, too, and it’s almost nine. I doubt Grams is going to let me come over.” I glance at Grams, and sure enough she shakes her head. She also gives me the cut-it-short signal, so I tell Marissa, “Actually, I’ve got to get off the phone now. We’re waiting for a callback from Lady Lana.”

“What’s going on?”

“I can’t get into it now. I’ll come by Hudson’s tomorrow and we’ll catch up, okay?”

She says, “Sure,” and I get off the phone.

Trouble is, my wonderful mother doesn’t call back.

Not that night.

Not the next day.

I wasn’t exactly hanging around, holding my breath that Her Royal Flakiness would return one of Grams’ twenty phone messages, but by noon I was sick to death of hoping Casey would call, so I finally grabbed my skateboard and told Grams, “I’m going over to Hudson’s and then to the mall for shoes.”

“Shoes?” she asks, all hopeful-like.

I laugh because I know she’s thinking that maybe I’m sick of my torn-up high-tops and ready for a pair of “decent” shoes. “Yeah, Grams, shoes.” I pull the swatch of fabric from my jeans. “Lavender ones.”

Her face crinkles. “To match the bridesmaid’s dress?”

This totally surprises me because with the whole Lady Lana thing, I hadn’t even told her about the Mountain of Lavender or having to get shoes dyed. “Uh … yeah.”

Her face crinkles harder. “Are the men wearing lavender cummerbunds?”

I tilt my head a little. “How do you
know
these things?”

She swipes some invisible sweat from her forehead. “I cannot see Gil Borsch carrying off lavender.”

I laugh. “Me neither.”

“Debra’s sewing everything herself?”

I nod. “Yup.”

“Poor dear,” she says with a sad little shake of her head. “Poor, poor dear.”

Grams has our door open and is checking the outside hallway to make sure the coast is clear, seeing how it’s against the rules for me to be living with her and all. When she’s sure it is, she whispers, “Run along. And call me if you’re going to be later than six.”

So I sneak down the hallway to the fire escape door, go outside and down the five flights of steps to the ground, then make my way along some bushes and across the grass to the sidewalk and jaywalk across the street over to the outskirts of the mall.

It feels good to tear around the mall on my skateboard.
The walkway doesn’t get walked on very much because everyone drives to get to where they want to go, but it’s a winding path that’s like a strip of parkway—it’s narrow, but there are lots of little sections. Shrubs. Grass. Pine trees. More shrubs, more grass, more pine trees. I like the parts where the trees are big and touch across the walkway because I feel like I’m skateboarding through the forest.

Anyway, I had a nice ride over to Hudson’s, and then a nice time
at
Hudson’s. Mikey was there, and it’s not like I didn’t recognize him, but I did notice a change in him. He’d lost weight, for one thing. Not tons, but some. I noticed it most in his face because I could actually see his eyes. Before they were pretty much just dark slits in folds of fat, but now I could actually
see
them.

“Looking good, Mikey!”

“Thanks,” he said back.

“How’s fourth grade going?”

“Pretty good,” he said with a little nod.

And that’s when I started noticing the other change in him.

He wasn’t bratty or whiny or belligerent, he didn’t argue or call names or try to pull stupid pranks.

He was just … quiet.

“Wow,” I said after I’d been there awhile and Marissa and I finally had some alone time on the porch. “Mikey’s changed.”

Marissa nodded, but she frowned, too. “I’m actually kind of worried about him. He’s taking this whole thing with Mom and Dad really hard. I tried to explain that they’re just in a fight like he and I are always getting into,
and that they’ll figure things out, but I think he’s scared. Shoot, I’m scared. It’s like we’re in the middle of some big explosion, and family parts are flying everywhere.”

“It’s because your dad’s still gambling?”

She looks over her shoulder and drops her voice even further. “Hudson says you can gamble away your house by taking out a loan or a
second
loan on it and gambling away the money.”

“But … did your dad really do that?”

“I don’t know! Mikey and I were banished to our rooms yesterday, so I had to sneak out and listen through walls. I’m pretty sure that’s what I heard, though.”

I thought about this a minute. “So your dad would have to pay the bank back, and if he doesn’t … ?”

“Hudson says the bank seizes the house.”

“Like, kicks you out?”

“Exactly.”

“Wow.”

So we talk some more about her mom and dad and all the things that were shattering inside the McKenze mansion, and when she’s finally talked out, she asks, “So what’s going on with Lady Lana this time?”

I roll my eyes. “Compared to what you’re going through, I feel stupid even talking about it.” But when I give her a rundown on Loopy Lana’s latest greatest, she gasps and says, “Unbelievable!”

“Yeah, but it’s not like she’s home throwing things and shouting insults, or has a gambling problem.”

“Maybe it’s like my dad,” Marissa says after a minute.
“Maybe your mom knows what she’s doing is messing everyone up but can’t stop.”

“Oh, please. There’s no such thing as Selfish Divas Anonymous. She doesn’t
have
a problem, she
is
a problem. She just doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”

Anyway, I did feel better talking it all out, and after we had some snacks with Hudson and Mikey, I invited Marissa to come along with me to get the bridesmaid shoes. I pulled the swatch from my pocket and said, “Can you picture me in a big, puffy lavender dress with matching shoes?”

Marissa’s eyes bugged. “Are you serious?”

I nodded and wagged the swatch in front of Mikey. “Can you believe it? Me. In lavender shoes.”

It was the first smile I’d seen on him since I’d gotten there.

“Not high-tops, either,” I told him, trying to keep the smile going. “Let me tell you—it’s gonna be
weird
.”

“Can I come?” he asked.

“To see me get lavender shoes? Are you serious? That seems like the boringest thing ever!”

He looked down. “I’ll be good.”

We all fell quiet. Then Hudson said to him, “Probably not a good adventure for you, m’man. How about another game of foosball?”

My eyebrows went flying. “When did you get foosball?” I turned to Mikey. “How about
you
go get the shoes and I’ll stay here and whip Hudson in foosball.”

But I could tell—Mikey still wanted to tag along.

Then Marissa gives me the wiggly eye—you know,
trying to tell me something without letting Mikey know she’s spilling a secret. And the funny thing is, I understand right away what she’s saying.

Mikey doesn’t want Marissa to leave.

“Hey,” I tell Mikey, “if you want to tag along and witness the incredible sight of me in sissy feet, come on.”

He smiles again, so I point at him and say, “But no blackmailing me, you got it?”

He nods, then turns to Hudson and says, “Foosball after, okay?”

Hudson’s fine with that, so I leave my skateboard on his porch and off we go to the mall.

Now, the last time Mikey, Marissa, and I walked to the mall together, Mikey complained the whole way about how tired and thirsty and hungry and
tortured
he was. He even lay down on the sidewalk a few times to throw tantrums. Marissa had to drag him along with a
dog
leash, if you can believe that.

But as we’re walking along now, he’s quiet. Oh, he’s huffing and puffing and even kind of grunting, but he’s trucking along behind us in a really
determined
way. Everything’s pumping—his legs, his chubby little fists, his puffy red cheeks … they’re all chugging together like he’s some Little Engine That Could going up a steep, steep hill. The sidewalk’s totally flat, but apparently for Mikey it’s like a twenty percent grade.

“Wow,” I whisper to Marissa as we’re cutting through a mall parking lot, “that’s unbelievable.”

She nods. “Hudson’s like magic. His boot camp over
the summer really helped. And the kids at school noticed, which helped, too.”

“Noticed that he’s lost weight?”

She nods.

“Hey!” Mikey calls, hurrying to catch up with us. “Can’t we take a shortcut through Cheezers?”

“It’s longer to the shoe store that way,” Marissa says.

“But it’s faster to the mall,” Mikey says back.

Marissa and I exchange looks, and then Marissa asks him, “Plus, are you sure you’re cool with going through a pizza place?”

“I’m cool with going anywhere that’s cool,” he grumbles, wiping his brow. “And it’s a lot
cooler
going
that
way.”

I stand there looking at him a second. “You remember the last time we went on a walk?”

“Yeah,” he says, kinda glowering. “Don’t bug me about it.”

“I’m not gonna bug you about it. I just want to say you did a great job keeping up this time.”

“Yeah?” he says, wiping his brow again. “Well, you’re not even sweating.”

I turn to Marissa. “You know what? His shortcut may be longer, but I think this boy has earned some air-conditioning, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do!”

“Thank you,” he says, heaving a sigh, and off we go to the back door of Cheezers.

Now, every time I go to Cheezers, I swear I’m not going back. It’s one of those pizza places that specialize in
cardboard crusts and seem to attract bikers. Plus, I don’t like going through it as a shortcut to air-conditioning because you’ve got to go right past the counter, where some grumpy-looking guy gives you the evil eye as you walk by. There are about five of them who work the counter at different shifts, but I think they’re all brothers or cousins or something because they’ve all got dark hair and a moustache and that same don’t-push-it-kid way of looking at you.

Anyway, just before we get to the walkway that leaves the parking structure and crosses over to Cheezers, we pass by three gleaming, custom-painted Harley-Davidson motorcycles. One’s dark orange with flames painted across the gas tank, one’s blackish purple with laughing skulls, and one’s royal blue with screaming eagles across it.

“Those are amazing,” Marissa says as we stop and gawk. “My dad almost got a Harley, but Mom wouldn’t let him.”

“When? Recently?”

She shakes her head and eyes Mikey. “Before the Mess.”

“Can we
please
go inside?” Mikey asks. He’s trying hard not to whine, but he’s obviously not happy with us for stopping.

So we scoot along to the back door of Cheezers, and when we get inside, Mikey lets loose a giant “Aaaaah!” and just stands there for a minute with his eyes closed, soaking in the coolness.

“Come on, Mikey!” Marissa calls, because we’re already by the counter trying to ignore the Evil-Eye Guy, who’s got us pegged as shortcutters.

Now, there’s a half wall that divides the order counter and the soda machine area from the picnic table dining room. And because Mikey’s now sniffing the air like he’s about to have a major junk food relapse, and because we have to go back for him and I’m trying to avoid the Evil-Eye Guy behind the counter on the right, I turn to the left and get a full-on view over the half wall.

The dining room’s pretty empty. There’s one couple just starting their pizza, and one table of four bikers wearing do-rags who are down to crumbs and beer. And normally, I would just kind of take all that in and keep on walking, but now I do a double take at the do-rag guys because I
know
one of them.

I’d know him anywhere.

And he’s the last person on earth I’d expect to see wearing a do-rag.

I grab Marissa by the arm and do a sly point into the dining area. “Check it out!”

She gasps, then whispers, “That’s Mr.
Vince
?” as we both duck behind the half wall and crack up.

Mikey’s figured out that something more interesting than cool air and the aroma of pizza is happening by us, so he hurries over. “What’s so funny?”

I stand up and shake my head, keeping my back to the dining room. “Never mind.”

Marissa stands up, too, and takes another quick look across the divider before following me toward the main door. And we’re both still laughing because … well … even though there’s
always
something weird about seeing your teachers outside of school, seeing them drinking beer in a do-rag? That’s beyond weird. That’s … delicious.

“Why don’t you guys ever tell me what’s going on?” Mikey asks, and he’s definitely in whine mode now.

We’re out of Cheezers and on the main walk of the mall, so I stop and tell him, “Well … you have a history of blackmail, extortion, and tattling, that’s why. I don’t know if I can
trust
you with secrets.”

“You can so!” he says, and he looks kind of hurt.

“Really?” I eye Marissa like, What do you think?

She shrugs. “He’s been pretty great on this walk. I think maybe we should test him with one.”

So I nod and say to Mikey, “You up for that?”

His eyes get big—well, as big as they can, anyway—and his head bobs like crazy while his whole roly-poly body seems to bounce in place.

“Okay.” I lean in and whisper, “You heard Marissa and me talking about my history teacher, right?”

“The Die Dude guy who hates you?”

I shrug. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Anyway, he’s in Cheezers with some friends drinking beer and wearing a do-rag!”