The Classy Crooks Club (11 page)

“Here,” my grandmother says, shoving Fireball at me. “Try again.”

Betty pushes her walker between my grandmother and me to keep her from coming any closer. “Leave her alone, Jo. You're making everything worse. AJ has plenty of time to practice with the birds before the heist. Let her catch her breath.”

“There is not
plenty of time
,” Grandma Jo huffs. “The heist is a week from today. She's the weak link in this equation, and I need to be sure she's prepared. We can't use her if the results are going to be unpredictable.”

My phone starts ringing in my back pocket, and I fish it out, glad for an excuse to look down so Grandma Jo can't tell how much her comment hurt me. I don't think I've ever been happier to see my brother's name on the screen. “It's Ben,” I say. “I have to take this, okay? I'll be right back.”

“But we're not done with—” Grandma Jo starts, but I'm out of the room before she can finish.

I pause on the stairs and take a few deep breaths before I answer. When I finally say “Hello?” it comes out sounding pretty calm.

“Hey, kiddo,” Ben says, and his voice in my ear is almost as good as a hug. “How's it going at Grandma Jo's? You settling in okay?”

I've made it to my room now, and I close the door and sit down on the floor with my back against it. There's so much to say, and I can't tell my brother any of it, which makes all my limbs feel heavy. “Things are okay, I guess,” I say.

“Yeah? Are you and Grandma Jo getting along? I know she's not your favorite person sometimes.”

“I'm not really hers, either,” I mutter. “But I guess things could be worse.”

Ben laughs. “My sister, the eternal optimist.”

“Shut up,” I say, but I'm smiling a little. Ben's the kind of person who always makes you smile, even when you don't really want to.

“How's soccer? Tell me about your last game.”

I try to tell him, but all I can pay attention to is how many birds there are out my bedroom window—a flock of pigeons crowding together on a telephone wire, a sparrow on my windowsill, a couple of crows on a tree branch, staring at the neighbor's house like they're casing the joint for a robbery. Why are they
everywhere
?

“Why is who everywhere?” Ben says.

“Nobody.” I didn't realize I'd said it out loud.

“Are you okay? You sound all weird and distracted. Is this a bad time to talk?”

“No, it's a fine time. It's nothing.”

“Come on, AJ, it's clearly not nothing. If you tell me, I might be able to help.”

He sounds so kind and concerned that I almost blurt out everything. If I decided to shut this whole heist thing down, I know he'd help me. But shutting it down isn't even what I want—I want to do the heist, and I want to do it well enough to earn some respect around here. But if I'm going to prove that Grandma Jo shouldn't underestimate me, I need to overcome my fear, and I have no idea how I'm going to manage that.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“Of course.”

“When you're really afraid of something but you have to do it anyway, how do you deal with it?”

“What kind of thing?”

“Like, what if you were really afraid of spiders, but you had to go camping in a place where there were tons of spiders?”

“Grandma Jo isn't taking you camping, is she?”

I picture Grandma Jo roasting marshmallows over a campfire in her lacy black dress, and I burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh,
no
, that's just an example.”

Ben's silent for a minute—I love how he always thinks hard before he talks. “I guess I would spend some time thinking about why I'm so afraid of spiders and figuring out if the fear is rational,” he finally says. “Maybe it would help if I knew there weren't any spiders at the campsite that were actually dangerous.”

“What if they might be dangerous, but you weren't sure?” I ask.

“I guess I'd prepare myself to deal with the worst-case scenario,” Ben says. “Like, maybe there's some good bug spray I could use. Or maybe there's some special medicine I should have on hand in case one bites me. You're not actually in danger, are you?”

“Probably not,” I say, and I hope it's true. “Just trying to deal with some stuff.”

“Sometimes it's as simple as mind over matter, telling yourself over and over that you can do it until you believe it. You're incredibly brave,  AJ. You always have been. I'm sure that whatever it is, you're going to kick its butt.”

“I'm not brave at all.” If today has proven anything to me, it's that.

“Are you kidding me? Who tried to do an ollie her very first time on a skateboard?”

I snort, remembering the way I limped home that day, my elbows and knees bleeding and embedded with tiny bits of gravel. Ben had to half carry me. “That wasn't brave,” I say. “That was idiotic.”

“Who got up in front of the whole school and made a speech for student council last year?”

“That wasn't scary. Who cares about student council?”

“Okay. Who leaped in front of her best friend to keep her from being bitten by a swan? You can't argue with that one; that was
brave
. And you were like five years old.”

“What? That swan didn't go for Maddie. It came straight at me, and Maddie ran away.”

“That's not what happened,  AJ. Is that how you remember it?”

“Well, yeah.” I think of the sequence of events that has played out over and over in my head for more than half my life—the pain in my fingers, the giant white wings rearing up, the hissing, the breath-stealing whack in the stomach.

“The swan bit your hand first, and you pulled away and started screaming,” Ben says. “And then it went for the bread Maddie was holding out. But you jumped in front of her and started waving your arms and yelling at it to leave her alone, and that's when it got scared and hit you. You had two broken fingers, and all you cared about was protecting your best friend.”

“Seriously? I did that?”

“Ask Mom when she gets back, if you don't believe me.”

It's an incredibly weird feeling, being told I've been remembering this huge event in my life wrong all this time. It's like the ground has suddenly tipped slightly to the side and I have to adjust to a new way of standing. That swan didn't attack me out of nowhere, like I thought. When it hit me, it was because I screamed and flailed at it first, like I did with Fireball. Maybe birds aren't as unpredictable as I thought. Maybe every bird startles and rears up when it gets scared.

“I never knew that,” I say. “Thank you. That helps.”

“Knowing what happened with the swan helps . . . with the spiders?”

“Yeah, actually.” I stand back up. “Hey, listen, I've gotta go. But I'll call you again soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Ben says. “Good luck, I guess?”

“Thanks.”

“Love you, AJ.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

I pull my gloves back on, and with renewed confidence, I go back down to the storage room. “I'm ready to try again,” I say to Grandma Jo. “Where's Fireball?”

My grandmother looks impressed, and it's such a rare occurrence that I almost don't even recognize the expression on her. Maybe I haven't ruined everything between us after all. She fetches Fireball, and when she puts him on my hand and he starts picking at my sleeve, I manage not to flinch. Betty, Cookie, and Edna are quiet and still as I parade him all the way around the room once, careful to keep my gait slow and steady like I did in the dark obstacle course. Maybe he can sense that I'm calmer than before, because this time he just sits there, grooming himself.

When I hand him back to Grandma Jo, she looks at me as though I'm a competent person for maybe the first time ever. This warm, proud feeling spreads through my chest, as if my heart is pumping hot chocolate instead of blood, and when she says, “Very good, Annemarie,” I can't help the goofy smile that breaks out on my face. I've clearly passed an important test.

Betty comes up behind me and squeezes my shoulders. “Such a brave girl,” she says.

And this time, I actually believe it.

I
get to soccer a little early on Monday, and the Bananas are the only ones there, stretching and gossiping by the fence. I'm about to sit down by myself and wait for my friends, but Sabrina calls hello and scoots back to make room for me, so I sit down next to her and start putting on my cleats. Ordinarily, Brianna wouldn't bother to acknowledge my existence, but today she smiles and says, “Hi, AJ, how's it going?”

For a second I wonder if she's really talking to me, but it's not like there's another AJ here. “Um, fine, I guess,” I say. “How're you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Ricky is servicing our pool, so we haven't been able to use it in two entire days. I'm dying for a swim, but it's not like I'm going to go to the
public
pool. I'm sure you know what I mean; your grandmother's house has a pool, right?”

Grandma Jo's house doesn't have a pool, but before I answer, Maddie arrives and plunks down next to me. “Hey,” she say to me, ignoring Brianna. “I was trying to call you all weekend. Where have you been?”

I did have a bunch of missed calls from Maddie this weekend, but I didn't call her back because I had no idea what to say; my life was suddenly full of birds and obstacle courses and other things I couldn't tell her about. “Sorry,” I say instead. “Um, my grandmother's cook accidentally knocked my phone into the sink, and it stopped working. But my grandmother says she'll get me a new one, one of those superfancy ones that came out last week.” I've heard Brianna complaining to the other Bananas that her dad won't buy her the newest phone, so I figure this is a good opportunity to slip in a little jab at her. Brianna's mouth falls open, jealousy stamped all over her face.
Yes
.

“Oh,” Maddie says. “That's cool, I guess.” She doesn't seem to realize I'm lying to make Brianna jealous, and when I remember her cracked screen, I realize I've accidentally made
her
jealous too. I try to send her a telepathic message that the phone thing is fake, but she's staring down at her cleats.

“Bring it to practice so we can play with it,” Sabrina begs. “I hear there's this game on it where pizzas fall from the sky and you have to slice them up with lasers before they hit the ground.”

“Definitely,” I say. Hopefully, everyone will forget about this before I actually have to produce a new phone.

Maddie turns so she's facing me, obviously trying to cut the other girls out of the conversation. “So anyway, the reason I was calling is so I could ask if you wanted to sleep over on Friday. Mom says we can make those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey's Kisses on top, and Lindsay's going on this overnight thing for youth group, so you know what
that
means.” I do know what that means—Maddie and I have spent hours poring over Lindsay's diaries when she's out with her friends. They're really fascinating and totally bizarre at the same time; I can't imagine I'll ever be that boy crazy, even when I'm sixteen. Once she liked four guys at the same time, and they were all named Mike.

Ordinarily, snooping in Lindsay's room would be an offer I couldn't refuse, but Friday night is heist night. I should tell Maddie I'm still grounded, but Brianna's sitting right there, and that won't go very far toward making her jealous of me. So instead I say, “Oh man, I'd love to, but I can't this week. I have to go to this fancy gala with my grandmother.”

It's so unrealistic that Grandma Jo would take me to a gala that I expect Maddie to see through my lie right away, but her face falls. “Oh no. Really?”

“Those things are
soooooo
boring,” Brianna says. “My father took me to one last Christmas when his company was getting an award, and I almost fell asleep at the table during the speeches. But at least the food was really good. The cake they served had little flecks of gold leaf on the top.”

I want to say, “You can eat
gold 
?” but maybe if I'd grown up as rich as Brianna, I'd already know that. So instead I try to look bored and say, “Yeah, they'll probably have stuff like that at this one too. And they're going to have a bunch of ice sculptures.” I only remember it's July after that's out of my mouth, and I'm scared Brianna's going to call me out, but instead she nods like what I said was totally normal.

“I hope your grandmother's friends are more interesting than my dad's,” she says. “All they talked about the entire night was their yachts. I mean, come on, we all have yachts. It doesn't make you special, you know?”

Maddie gives me a look like,
Is she for real?
I have a hard time biting back a laugh, but I don't let it show. “I know,” I say. “My grandmother's friends are always going on about their private jets. But seriously, if you've seen one private jet, you've seen them all, right?”