This Journal Belongs to Ratchet (4 page)

Sum Poetry 2

One dark blue tank top

(With only a small snag in it),

+

One pair of tan shorts

(Which are only a little too baggy),

+

One light blue scarf

(Only frayed a little bit on one end),

+

One pair of shiny, silver flip-flops

(Only slightly ripped on one side)

Almost
=

One cool look

From

Stylin' It.

Blainesfield Recreation Center “Get Charmed” Class

Present:
Ms. Charlize (the teacher), Ratchet, and four girls who already look charmed.

3:50
I enter the classroom. No one else is there. I sit at the second table in the middle row.

3:54
Four girls enter, giggling and laughing. I recognize them from the library. They were the ones reading the paperback book together. They already look photo-shoot ready for a cover story in Stylin' It.

3:57
They finally notice me, but don't say hi. They squeeze closer together in a group, whisper a little too loud, “What's
she
doing here?” and then laugh.

3:58
Looking like one of the designers on a makeover show carrying her black leather portfolio in one hand, a dark-haired twenty-something click-clacks into the room in superhigh heels, tight black jeans, and a black sequined tank top with a sparkly black and green scarf draped and looped in just the right way around her neck. (It looks so much better than my slightly frayed blue one, which is twisted around my neck looking like someone's trying to strangle me.) “Hi, girls! I'm Charlize!” she says, and smiles with teeth that sparkle more than her scarf.

3:59
I stare at her
—
sort of mesmerized by the sparkles, the sequins, and her smile.

4:00
She plops her portfolio on the front table and flips it open. “How would you like to see my head shots?”

4:01
The Stylin' It cover girls rush the front table like it's half-price day at the Dollar Store and gather around Charlize and her photos.

4:02
“I love your hair in this one,” cover girl #1 says.

4:03
“Look at those shoes!” says cover girl #2. “I want them!”

4:04
“These aren't even my best shots,” Charlize explains as she flips to another page in her portfolio with one hand and flips her shoulder-length hair with the other. “My agent keeps the really good ones,” she says.

4:05
I'm still stuck in my seat at the second table in the middle row. I can't see the photos from here, but I don't want to. I've seen enough already. Seen enough to know that no matter how many racks and bins I go through at Goodwill, I will never be “charmed.” This class isn't for people who want to “get charmed.” It's for people who already “are charmed.” And I'm not one of them.

4:10
I get up and head for the door, hoping to sneak out without being seen. But just my luck that Ms. Charlize picks this moment to notice me. “Sorry we haven't made room for you. Come on up and take a look.” I feel everyone staring at me. And at that moment I wish I could be like Dad
—
not caring what anyone thinks. Not being afraid of what people say about me. Not worrying if I look like a fool in the Goodwill outfit I worked so hard to put together. But I do care. I came to this class because I care, and because I had hoped to make a friend, but I could tell that wasn't going to happen, so I just shrug and say, “I'm in the wrong room. This isn't the class I signed up for,” which isn't even a lie.

4:11
I push open the double doors of the rec center and unlock my bike. I hop on and pedal away wondering where to go from here.

No Style Required

I get back to my room and look at myself in the mirror. I could see why they'd been staring. What had I been thinking? I looked like a little kid playing dress-up with that scarf draped around my neck. And the makeup I had put on made me look more like a clown than a supermodel. I had followed the step-by-step instructions in the copy of Stylin' It that I'd checked out from the library.

*
Begin with Bayberry Blush and add Daylight Dusting Powder.

*
Continue with Keep-Yourself-Covered Concealer.

*
Add Elegant Eyeliner, Sure Shades Eye Shadow, and Midnight Moonlight Mascara.

*
Paint on Periwinkle Nail Polish and spritz your neck and wrist with Seaside Sunshine Perfume.

*
Accessorize your outfit with a scarf, belt, or hat and step out in style.

I had followed the instructions carefully, but instead of “stepping” out in style, I had just tripped. Actually, who was I kidding? I had just fallen flat on my face.

I pick up the magazine, and even though I feel like throwing it across the room like a Frisbee, I open it. Maybe there is some advice for a style misstep, but I find something better. An article titled “Create Your Own Style.” So I unwrap the scarf. (It never really was me.) I change into a white, cotton tank top. (Well, a tank top that used to be white.) Then I pull on a light blue, short-sleeved, button-down shirt and leave it unbuttoned. I kick off the shiny, silver flip-flops, and I slip my bare feet into my worn-out Keds.

I look at myself in the mirror again and wonder if anyone would ever call an outfit like mine a “style.” The thing is: it doesn't really matter because any minute, my dad will be yelling from the garage, “Ratchet! C'mere and hold this exhaust while I put a clamp on it, would ya?” And even though my plan for this afternoon had been to “get charmed,” I'm thankful that Dad needs my help and that no style will be required.

Edward J. Johnson. AKA Eddie J. or Pretty Boy Eddie. He walks around town acting like he owns the place, and actually, he kind of does because he's so rich. He owns one restaurant, one gas station, three grocery stores, and one hardware store.

If this town were a kingdom, he'd be the king. If it were a country, he'd be the president. If it were the world, he'd think he was God. But it's only Blainesfield, so he's just a big shot. Dad says thankfully enough people still use the common sense the Good Lord gave them, so he's hasn't been elected mayor; not yet anyway, but he might as well be the mayor because skinny, squirrely Benson Prindle who really
did
get elected mayor, doesn't make a move without Eddie J.'s approval.

But these are not the reasons I dislike Eddie Johnson. I don't like him because of what he says to Dad.

“Why thank you for enlightening us with your highly scientific and most definitely accurate opinion about everything, Mr. Vance. We will take it all into careful consideration.”

He says it as if he's talking to a stupid kid with crazy ideas, and he says it as if not one word of what Dad says is worth listening to, let alone worth “careful consideration.” He's sarcastic and snotty. And he says the same thing to Dad every time Dad speaks at the city council meetings because Eddie J., of course, is the city council spokesman. That's why I dislike Edward J. Johnson.

ONE of My Most Embarrassing Moments

Dad makes me read the newspaper every day for social studies. So this morning I went outside to get the paper from the driveway, and when I did, Hunter and Evan came up the street on their bikes. When they saw me, Evan said really loud, “Hey, Hunter, I wonder if Ratchet's dad can use his tools to break out of the slammer. I bet he's not so handy in handcuffs.”

I didn't know what he was talking about until I picked up the newspaper and unrolled it. The blood drained from my head to my toes. I lost all feeling in my arms. Why? Because there on the front page I stared at a huge photo of my “most important person” in handcuffs. He was wearing another one of the T-shirts I hate.

This one says, “If idiots were trees, this place would be an orchard.”

Now, on top of my dad being the most un-normal dad in the world, he's a convict too.

Yesterday I thought Dad was out at the junkyard looking for parts.

“Why buy a new starter, when you might be able to find an old one?”

How about because it's easier, Dad?

But Dad hadn't really been out hunting for a starter. No wonder he'd gotten home so late. At breakfast he'd told me some story about running into some old friends and stopping for dinner. (Unless he's friends with the Chase County Police Department, and they serve dinner down at the station in a holding cell, Dad had lied to me.) It wasn't the first time.

He said stretching the truth was sometimes necessary. To save the environment. Or to protect someone you love. (I wonder what the Good Lord thinks of Dad's little lying theory?)

The headline to the story about Dad read, “TRACTORS STOP FOR DEVELOPERS OF MOSS TREE PARK.” The caption under Dad's photo said, “Environmental activist steals keys to construction vehicles in hopes of delaying development of Moss Tree Park.”

In the article Dad says, “These morons think the only thing green is money. They're going down!”

I wonder why it's so hard for Dad to just keep his mouth shut.

Dad told reporters he'd found out that the guy who originally owned Moss Tree Park was Herman Moss. When Mr. Moss died and left the park land to the county, he
supposedly
had one condition
—
the land could never be developed.

Dad said he'd read about it in an old newspaper article he found at the library, but for all I know, the Good Lord told him about it in a dream.

Of course, no one can find the paperwork to prove what Dad says is true, but Dad told the newspaper he plans to somehow find it.

Mayor Prindle said, “It's too bad Mr. Vance can't channel all that passion he feels toward parks into something that will really benefit this town: and that's progress. I like parks as much as the next guy, but money doesn't grow on trees, Mr. Vance, and our town stands to gain a lot of revenue from this new strip mall.”

I knew this was something Eddie J. had told him to say. Dad always said Mayor Prindle never spoke to reporters without talking to Pretty Boy Eddie first. He was good at knowing what to say when the cameras were rolling, but when they weren't, Pretty Boy and the mayor were much meaner. Dad told me the mayor once called him, right to his face, “a raving lunatic with a warped view of reality.” I guess Dad sort of deserved it with all the things he said at the meetings. He had called the city council members much worse things, but at least Dad wasn't two-faced. Pretty Boy Eddie always acted like such a nice guy in public, but the minute he wasn't on record, he turned into pretty much a jerk. Dad and Eddie J. had been at war with each other for years about everything, and Moss Tree Park was just one more battle.

I'm sure Dad had stolen the tractor keys, hoping his stunt would give him more time to do some investigating, and he was right. The article ended with, “No doubt the mayor and the city council should do some of their own investigating before moving forward with the Moss Tree Park project.”

Dad loved fighting for places like Moss Tree Park, and he never gave up. Especially when it had to do with the environment. And if it wasn't
this
park or
these
trees, it would be something else.

That's why I know this is only ONE of my most embarrassing moments.