Violet Raines Almost Got Struck by Lightning (3 page)

“Oh!” Melissa has her arm against her mouth.

She steps backward, but I pick up the dump bucket and show her. “See?” I shake the bucket. Guts and fish heads slide over each other. “This is what cooking
real
fish looks like.”

She pushes away from me and runs toward the steps but doesn't make it. She vomits right there on the stairs.

“Melissa!” Mrs. Townsend runs to her. She sweeps Melissa's hair back and holds it while Melissa finishes up.

I put the bucket down and stare. I didn't mean for her to puke. But if you think you're going to be part of a fish fry, you better know it ain't no fishsticks.

Lottie's at the screen door watching the Golds leave. Mrs. Townsend hoses down the back steps as Hannah and Ashley run around. I'm pulling the fish out of the kettle; they've turned out perfectly. The Golds' motor turns on, and I hear the crunching of gravel as their car turns out of Lottie's driveway.

Tootsie clatters up the porch steps, throws open the screen door, and runs in. “They're gone,” she announces. When no one says anything, she brushes by Lottie and grabs her hand. “Don't be sad.”

Lottie pats Tootsie's head. “I'm not sad,” she says. She lets go of Tootsie and tells her to tell their mom everything's about ready. Then she looks at me. “I'm a little mad.” She walks up to where I'm laying the fillets on paper towels. She leans against the counter. “I know you didn't do it on purpose, but you were kind of mean to her.”

My mouth drops open, mainly because I didn't think Lottie had noticed. But now I've got to defend myself. “Lottie,” I say, peering directly into her eyes, “we were both showing her how to cook fish. You heard what she said—the smell was getting to her.”

Lottie squints. She's not quite buying it.

“You're the one who wanted her to cook with us. I was just trying to be helpful—I even gave her my apron so her clothes wouldn't get dirty, remember?”

Lottie nods. “That
was
nice of you.”

“So when she said that about the smell, I thought maybe she'd do better outside, that's all.”

Lottie's face scrunches up. She needs one more push.

I shake my head. “I just feel sorry for her, living in the murder capital of the United States, going to school with such dangerous people.”

Lottie's eyes go wide. “I know! I can't imagine living like that!” Her face is all lit up and I feel better 'cause she's not mad at me anymore. “She said they might even build a subway there!” She moves the fish to a serving platter and grabs the coleslaw from the fridge on her way to the table.

I bring the forks and knives. “Like in New York?”

“I don't know. She said the subway would be aboveground.” Lottie shrugs. “Like a monorail, I guess.”

Big deal, they have monorails at Disney. It's just a ride.

Tootsie and the rest of the family come pushing through the screen door. Everyone sits down, and after we say grace, we start passing around the food. I am surrounded by noise and family and it is as cozy as snuggling in your bed on a cold night.

5

I'm sitting on my porch in the morning when Eddie comes down the road on his bike.

“What're you doing?” he says, turning down our walk.

“I'm going to Lottie's later.” But right now I know for a fact she's doing laundry—I saw the sheets out on the line. I hate folding clothes, so I sat with Momma till she went to work, then I came out here to sit. “But I'm not doing anything right now.”

Eddie wipes his forehead with his arm. “Want to look for cups with me?”

If you return thirty BrainFreeze cups to the gas station, they give you a free BrainFreeze. I need a drink anyways. A root beer one sounds good. “Let's go.”

Walking down the road is like walking inside an oven. The humidity presses the sun down on you, and the dirt road blasts the heat back up. Eddie thinks our best luck for finding used cups will be where all the teenagers park, out by the county road. We go down a little ways and then turn left onto the fork that dead-ends at the woods.

The footpath is worn in good, lined mostly by palmettos and wax myrtles, a few scrub oaks. Definitely cooler under here. We walk single file. Sometimes Lottie comes with us, but usually she's stuck doing chores, what with her dad working at the repair shop and her momma getting stuff ready for the farmer's market. I like being outside with Eddie 'cause he knows scientific things about bugs and snakes, and he can catch a lizard as fast as I can. Besides, when Eddie and I are alone, I don't feel like we have to be talking all the time.

We duck under spiderwebs that stretch across the path over our heads. The woods are a busy place. Woodpeckers are drilling trees and squirrels are running along branches in the treetops. One ground squirrel picks up an acorn and darts up an oak; another squirrel chatters right behind him. They don't seem to take notice of us, and we keep walking. Finally, we spill out to the open area that runs along the river.

Eddie pulls a pack of pretzels from the pocket of his baggy shorts. He gestures with the bag. I shake my head. Shrugging, he crinkles it open. “How was the fish fry?”

My chest heaves with a big sigh. Just as I am about to tell the story, it spins around and turns into something different. This new version is better. I try it out on Eddie.

“Melissa puked something awful at Lottie's,” I say. I remember Lottie's sympathetic expression toward Melissa and I try to imitate it. “Poor Melissa.” I press my lips together and shake my head. We pass by turkey oaks and cypress trees. You can't see the river from here; the woods end on a ridge that drops down to the water. We go around the bend and the net bridge comes into sight.

“What was
she
doing there?”

I like how he emphasizes
she
—like even he knows that gooseneck girl didn't belong there. “Lottie's parents invited them over. We were showing her how to cook fish, that's all. We were trying to teach her everything. I even showed her how Mr. Townsend cleans a fish.” I look at him straight on to see how he's buying it.

Eddie starts laughing.

I forget to keep the sympathy on my face. “What?”

“I passed Tootsie in the field.” His eyes twinkle.

I shrug one shoulder.

“She said you pushed Melissa's head into the dump bucket.”

I stop walking. “What? I didn't do that. I didn't make her puke on purpose.”

Eddie looks at me and grins.

“I didn't.” I start walking again. The ground slopes up into a cliff along the river. The net bridge stretches between a dock on this side to a ramp on the other side. The boards you have to climb to get up to the bridge are a termite's dream, rotten and moist.

“Gonna cross with me, Violet?”

The bridge sags high above the river. Most of the netting has fallen off. The wires look thin. And there are gaps big enough for a person to fall through. Him and that bridge—he won't leave me alone about it.

“Let's take the long way around,” I say. “Might see an eagle if we do.”

Eddie stares at me, smiling. I stare back, daring him with my eyes to say something.

“Okay,” he says. “Let me feed the fish first.” He climbs up, grips the hand cables, and the wires shake all the way to the other side. The bridge squeaks and clanks with Eddie's first step. A thick cord runs on the bottom where there used to be boards to walk on. Eddie slides across it as easy as a tightrope walker.

I look around for a long stick. In case he falls in, I could hook his collar and drag him out before the alligators get him.

Eddie stops in the middle of the bridge and starts throwing pretzels. “Violet! Did you see that one?”

“No!” I can't see nothing through that black water. I do see bubbles and then pretzels disappearing suddenly, as if yanked down.

“Hey! There's Alfred!”

My heartbeat goes into a drumroll. I ain't moving any closer, but I stretch my neck and my eyes strain over the river. Those alligators are sneaky. They float with just their eye humps sticking out. Downriver's smooth as glass, and when I look back to Eddie, he's smiling and throwing pretzels. My heart calms down.

“Alfred?” I say, moving a little closer. “You mean Allie.” We ain't seen that alligator since last year. Seen some baby ones, but not that big one. Lottie and Hannah thought it was a log, it was so far away, but Eddie and I know it was an alligator. We just can't agree on if it's a boy or a girl. 'Course I secretly think that gator's a boy, but I like to mess with Eddie about it.

“Oh, man!” he shouts. “You just missed the biggest catfish.” He holds his hands about three feet apart.

I laugh. “You big liar.”

“You ought to know,” he says, coming off the bridge. It springs back after his weight and rattles before settling down. We start walking again.

I'm frowning now. “What do you mean?”

He leans his head toward me. “I know you don't like Melissa.”

His words cut right through to my heart. Not because they are mean, but because they are true. I think how I might get around this, but Eddie's not easy to fool like Lottie is. He knows when I'm lying.

We walk in silence. The path is getting narrower again; we're getting close to the county road.

Eddie bends down and picks up a crushed BrainFreeze cup. “I wouldn't worry about it.”

“I'm not worried.”

He shrugs.

“I'm not—what would I have to be worried about?” I scowl at him.

He raises his hand like a stop sign. “Okay, nothing.”

The way he says that gets under my skin, and I narrow my eyes. “What?”

“Well . . .” He pauses, scratches his neck. “Maybe you're a little jealous.”

I cannot believe I'm hearing this. “Jealous! What would I have to be jealous of?”

He waves his hands around, erasing the air between us. “Nothing—forget it.”

I stop walking and cross my arms. “Tell me.”

Sighing, he turns around and faces me. “Well, she's pretty . . . Lottie likes her. . . .” He pauses. “And she wears a bra.”

My face flashes with heat on that last word. My mouth drops open, but nothing comes out.

“But you shouldn't be jealous,” Eddie says. How he can even talk after saying that one word is beyond me. “You got everything she does.” He starts to walk, then turns around, and though his lips are straight, the tiniest bit of a smile shows through. “Except the bra.”

I pick up a stick and hurl it at him. He raises his forearm and blocks it. I grab more sticks and become a human machine gun,
bam, bam, bam,
but he laughs and runs ahead.

“Come on, Violet,” he yells over his shoulder. “We're almost there.”

“I ain't going nowhere with you,” I yell back. “I didn't even want a BrainFreeze!”

6

I'm so mad at Eddie that I cut through the woods, pass the bridge, and make it back to the road in just a few minutes. What does he know anyway?

I try not to think of it as I pound down the road, but that word keeps bubbling up in my brain: B-R-A.
Brassiere. Slingshot. Cup holder.
Nope, the thought of being hooked up in one of those harnesses does not appeal to me. I'm not jealous and now I'm even madder at Eddie for thinking I was.

As I get up by Lottie's yard, I see the sheets still on the line, waving in the breeze. Lord, that girl is moving slow today. I wish she'd hurry up. But I don't feel like doing laundry, so I keep marching down the road. I'll give her another half hour.

In the meantime, I'm getting hungry. I don't feel like eating alone, so I cut through some yards to Parker's to see if Momma can take a lunch break. The air-conditioning whooshes over me when I walk through the electric doors. Goose bumps pop out all over my arms. I head over to the bakery, and Momma sees me right away.

“Let me get the cookies out,” she says, but first she leans around the corner and kisses the top of my head. She used to kiss my face, but I told her I was too old for that. She's allowed to kiss my head, but no other kissing. Don't even blow me a kiss; I'll just duck and the kiss will land on the wrong person.

She puts on those big oven mitts and pulls out trays of chocolate chip cookies. I have come at just the right time.

She disappears into the back for a moment and comes up front to me. “You come for lunch?” She's pulling off her apron, so I'm guessing she's hungry too.

I nod. “Maybe some egg salad,” I say. “Maybe some of them cookies.”

Momma laughs and we head for the deli.