双语畅销书·怦然心动 Chapter 09 越变越大，越变越臭
Chapter 09
越变越大，越变越臭
周日早上，我醒来的时候，觉得自己像是得了一场重感冒。我好像刚刚做了个梦，就像发烧时脑子里涌出的恐怖、费解、难以名状的噩梦。
我发现自己必须学会摆脱这些恐怖、费解、难以名状的梦，试着忘记它们的存在。
整晚我都挣扎着想摆脱它，第二天，我起得很早，因为昨天晚上几乎没吃东西，已经饿坏了！去厨房的路上，我匆匆地向客厅看了一眼，发现爸爸睡在沙发上。
这是个不好的兆头。它意味着家庭战争还没有结束，让我变得像个自己领土的侵入者。
他翻了个身，哼哼着，在又小又薄的被子下面蜷缩得更紧了，冲着枕头咕哝着，听上去绝对不是什么好话。
我溜进厨房，给自己倒了一大碗玉米片。正要倒牛奶的时候，妈妈悄无声息地溜进厨房，抢走了牛奶。“你得再等一会儿，年轻人，”她说，“周日的早餐，全家人必须一起吃。”
“可是我快饿死了！”
“我们也是。出去吧！我要做薄饼，而你应该去洗个澡。走吧！”好像洗澡能遏制住即将到来的饥饿感似的。
我下楼朝浴室走去，发现客厅已经没人了。
被子叠起来放在扶手椅上，枕头不见了……刚才我看到的仿佛只是一场梦。
吃早餐的时候，爸爸表现得一点儿也不像在沙发上睡了一夜。没有眼袋，没有胡楂。他穿上一条网球裤和一件淡紫色的Polo衫，头发吹得像工作日时一样。
我个人认为他衣服的颜色有点娘，不过妈妈说：“你今天看起来很精神，瑞克。”
爸爸只是猜疑地看着她。
外公进来了，说：“佩西，满屋都是香味！早上好，瑞克。嗨，布莱斯。”他坐下的时候朝我使了个眼色，把餐巾铺在膝盖上。
“利——奈——特，”妈妈喊道，“吃——早——饭——了！”
姐姐现身了，穿着短得不能再短的迷你裙、松糕鞋，眼睛涂抹得活像一只浣熊。妈妈倒抽一口凉气，但她深呼吸一下，说：“早上好，宝贝。你……你看起来……我想你今天早上是要和朋友一起去教堂吧。”
“是的。”利奈特拉着脸，在桌边坐下。
妈妈端上薄饼、煎蛋和土豆煎饼。爸爸一动不动地坐了一会儿，最后还是抖开了餐巾，塞在领子上。
“好吧，”妈妈坐下的时候宣布，“针对现在的情况，我想出了一个解决办法。”
“开始了……”爸爸嘟囔着，但妈妈瞪了他一眼，他马上不说话了。
“这个办法是……”妈妈边给自己拿了两张薄饼边说，“我们请贝克一家来吃饭。”
爸爸脱口而出：“你说什么？”利奈特问：“请他们全家？”我插进去问：“你是当真的吗？”只有外公又盛了一个煎蛋，然后说：“佩西，这是个好主意。”
“谢谢，爸爸，”她微笑着答道，然后对利奈特和我说，“我当然是认真的，是的，如果朱莉和男孩子们愿意，他们也在被邀请之列。”
姐姐大笑起来：“你知道自己在说什么吗？”
妈妈在膝盖上摊平餐巾：“我想我马上就知道了。”
利奈特转过头看着我：“她想邀请‘神秘小便’的核心成员来吃饭——哦，我真盼着快点看到那个场面！”
爸爸摇了摇头：“佩西，你请他们吃饭有什么目的？没错，我昨晚确实说了些不该说的话。这是你对我新一轮的惩罚吗？”
“我们几年前就该这么做。”
“佩西，拜托。我知道你为你听到的事情感到难过，但一次尴尬的晚餐聚会也改变不了什么！”
妈妈把糖浆倒在薄饼上，卷起最上面的一张，舔舔手指，然后狠狠地盯着爸爸：“我们要请贝克家来吃饭。”
她一定要这么做，不用再说什么了。
爸爸做了个深呼吸，然后叹着气说：“好吧，随便你，佩西。别说我没提醒你。”他咬了一口土豆煎饼，含混地说，“我想，是请他们过来烧烤？”
“不，瑞克。一次正式的晚餐。就像招待你的客户一样。”
他停止咀嚼：“你指望他们正装出席？”
妈妈瞥了他一眼：“我指望的是，你像我一贯以为的那样，表现得像个绅士。”
爸爸埋头对付他的土豆煎饼，总比和妈妈争论来得安全。
利奈特吃掉一整个煎蛋的蛋白，外加几乎一整张薄饼。
当然，这没什么稀奇，但从她比平时吃得更多以及咯咯傻笑的样子来看，显然她至少心情不错。
外公吃得很多，但我不知道他在想什么。他又恢复成像块石头那么冷。而我则意识到，这顿饭可能远比想象的更为诡异——它可能会带来麻烦。那些腐坏的鸡蛋从墓穴里爬出来，悬在我头上，越来越大，越来越臭。
当然，外公知道这件事，可是其他家庭成员还不知道。假如吃饭的时候有人提起怎么办？那我就死定了。
吃完早饭，刷牙的时候，我考虑收买朱莉。把她争取过来，就不会有人提起鸡蛋的事了。也许我可以想办法破坏掉这顿饭。让它永远也别发生。没错，我可以——我阻止自己再往下想，盯着镜子。我到底有多懦弱？吐了口唾沫，我回到房间里找我妈妈。
“怎么了，亲爱的？”她一边刷着煎锅，一边问我，“你看起来有心事。”
我又巡视了一圈，确定爸爸和利奈特没有潜伏在附近，然后压低了声音说：“你保证替我保密吗？”
她笑了：“哈，我不知道。”
我等着她往下说。
“是什么……”她看着我，停下手上的活儿，“哦，看起来挺严重嘛。亲爱的，怎么啦？”
我已经有很长时间没有自发地向妈妈坦白交代过什么事了。似乎没有这个必要，我已经学会怎么搞定自己的事。至少我是这么想的。但现在不一样了。
她拉住我的胳膊说：“布莱斯，告诉我。发生什么事了？”
我跳起来坐在餐台上，深吸一口气，然后说道：“是朱莉的鸡蛋。”
“她的……鸡蛋？”
“是的。你还记得那次关于小鸡、母鸡、沙门氏菌的小插曲吗？”
“那是很久以前的事了，不过我当然记得……”
“呃，可你并不知道，朱莉不止送过那一次鸡蛋。她那时每周都送过来……差不多吧。”
“是吗？我怎么不知道？”
“好吧，我没告诉她我们不想要这些鸡蛋，又怕爸爸生我的气，所以每次都把鸡蛋拦下来。我看着她过来，赶在她按门铃之前开门，然后在别人发现她来过之前，把鸡蛋扔进垃圾箱。”
“哦，布莱斯！”
“呃，我以为它们总有一天会停止下蛋！一只愚蠢的母鸡能下多长时间的蛋？”
“但我听说它们不再下蛋了呀？”
“是的。从上个星期开始。因为朱莉撞见我把鸡蛋扔进屋外的垃圾箱。”
“哦，亲爱的。”
“就是这样。”
“那么，你是怎么跟她说的？”
我低下头，嗫嚅着：“我告诉她，我们害怕沙门氏菌感染，因为他家的院子实在太脏了。她哭着跑了，接下来，她就开始整修她家的院子了。”
“哦，布莱斯！”
“就是这样。”
她沉默了一会儿，然后用很轻的声音说：“谢谢你的诚实，布莱斯，这印证了很多事。”她摇着头说，“那家人会怎么看我们。”然后继续刷锅，“如果你想听我的意见，那么这越发说明我们必须请他们吃顿饭。”
我低声说：“你保证不把鸡蛋的事说出去，对吗？我是说，朱莉告诉了外公，所以他已经知道了，但我不想让更多的人知道，你明白的，比如说爸爸。”
她盯着我看了半天，然后说：“向我保证你记住了这次教训，亲爱的。”
“我记住了，妈妈。”
“那好吧。”
我大大地松了口气：“谢谢你。”
“哦，还有，布莱斯。”
“嗯？”
“你把这件事告诉我，我很高兴。”她在我脸颊上亲了一下，然后笑着说，“你是不是保证过今天修剪草坪？”
“是的。”说着，我向屋外跑去，准备开始干活。
晚上，妈妈宣布贝克一家会在周五晚上六点过来，晚宴的菜单包括水煮三文鱼、螃蟹海鲜饭，以及时蔬炖菜，谁也不许临阵脱逃。爸爸嘟囔着说，假如真要请他们吃饭，还不如来一次庭院烧烤，至少他有事可做，可是妈妈狠狠地瞪着他，让他不得不打消这个念头。
好吧，他们就要来了。这让我在学校见到朱莉的时候，感觉更不自在了。并不是说她开始兴高采烈，甚至冲我挥手挤眼。不是的，她又开始躲着我了。碰巧遇到我的时候，她会打个招呼，但不像从前，我每次都能在身边看到她，现在她基本从我眼前消失了。她一定是从后门偷偷溜出去，并且找到了一条能穿行在校园里却又不为人知的路。我不知道，但她就像是人间蒸发了。
我发现自己上课的时候看着她。老师正在讲课，每个人的眼睛都应该向前看……除了我。它们总是忍不住瞟向朱莉，这太奇怪了。这一秒钟我还在听课，下一秒钟我已经完全把头转过去，看着朱莉。
直到星期三的数学课上，我才明白是怎么回事。她的头发在肩膀上披散开，歪着头，看起来和报纸上的照片一模一样。不完全一样——不同的角度，也没有风吹拂着她的头发——可她看起来就和照片上一样，太像了。
想通了这件事，我沿着脊梁骨升起一股凉意。我很好奇——她在想什么？她对根式推导真有那么大的兴趣吗？
我盯着她的事被达拉·特莱斯勒发现了，上帝，她冲我露出了一个不怀好意的笑容。如果我不想点办法，流言蜚语就会像野火一样传遍学校了。于是我侧过头对她小声说：“她的头发里有只蜜蜂，傻瓜。”然后指着空气，仿佛在说，看到了吗？就在那儿。
达拉转着头寻找那只蜜蜂，而我在那天剩下的时间里努力收回我的注意力。我绝不想跟达拉·特莱斯勒这样的人纠缠下去。
晚上写作业的时候，只是为了证明自己错了，我又把报纸从垃圾桶里抽出来。一边把它抹平，一边告诫自己：这是扭曲的事实；这是我的想象；她根本不是那样……
但她就在那里。数学课上和我隔着两排的姑娘，正栩栩如生地出现在报纸上。
利奈特闯了进来。“我要用你的卷笔刀。”她说。
我啪的一下用活页夹盖住报纸：“你应该先敲门！”她走近我，而报纸仍然很醒目，我只好尽可能迅速地把活页夹匆忙地塞进背包。
“你在藏什么，小弟弟？”
“没什么，别再叫我小弟弟了！而且再也别想闯进我的房间！”
“给我卷笔刀，我就走。”她伸出手。
我从抽屉里翻出来扔给她，果然，她如我所愿地消失了。可是没过多久妈妈就喊我过去，然后，好吧，我忘记报纸还放在活页夹里。
直到第二天早上第一节课为止。上帝！我能怎么办呢？我没法站起来把报纸扔出去，加利特就在旁边。
除此之外，达拉·特莱斯勒也在教室里，我敢说——她可时刻注意着那些任性的蜜蜂呢！被她抓住把柄的话，我就惨了。
像平常一样，加利特凑过来拿一张纸，因为心里有鬼，我按住了他的手。
“哥们儿！”他说，“你怎么回事？”
“对不起。”我这才明白他只不过想拿一张横格纸，而不是那张报纸。
“哥们儿，”他又说了一遍，“知不知道你最近老是魂不守舍的？有人告诉过你吗？”他从我的活页夹里撕下一张纸，却看到了报纸的边缘。他看看我，我还来不及阻止，他猛地把它抽了出来。
我朝他扑过去，从他手里抢下来，但是已经晚了。他看到了照片。
在他开口之前，我恶狠狠地盯着他说：“给我闭嘴，听见没有？不是你想的那样。”
“哇哦，放松点，好吗？我什么都没想……”但我明明看出他脑子里正在盘算些什么。他假惺惺地冲我一笑，“我相信你一定有个完美而充足的理由来解释你为什么随身带着一张朱莉安娜·贝克的照片。”
他的语气把我吓坏了。就像他正预备着怎么把我放在全班同学面前嘲笑一番。我凑在他耳边说：“别说出去，行吗？”
老师叫我们俩安静点，但加利特还在不停地冲我傻笑，还朝着活页夹的方向挑起眉毛做鬼脸。课后，达拉假装表现出冷淡而专注的样子，实际上则是竖起耳朵对准我们。她让我一整天都心神不宁，也就根本找不到机会向加利特解释。
不过，我能跟他说什么呢？报纸之所以在活页夹里，是因为我不愿意被我姐姐看见？那可真是个好理由。
除此之外，我也不想为此找一些蹩脚理由。其实我很想找加利特聊聊。我是说，他曾经是我的朋友，而最近几个月以来，有太多的事让我心烦意乱。我想，如果跟他聊聊，也许能帮我回到正轨，帮我别再想这些烦心事了。在这方面，加利特足够可靠。
还不错，社会科学课上，我们有时间去图书馆查阅资料，准备写著名历史人物的论文。达拉和朱莉也在这个班，但我想办法把加利特单独拉到一个角落里，避开别人的注意。
一到没人的地方，我就开始为了小鸡的事痛骂起加利特。
他冲我晃晃脑袋：“哥们儿！你在说什么呢？”
“你还记得那次我们去她家隔着围栏偷窥吗？”
“六年级那次？”
“没错。记得你问我什么是母鸡吗？”
他转转眼睛：“哦，又来了……”
“嘿，关于小鸡，你什么也不懂。我把命都交给你了，可你根本没把我当回事。”
我对他讲了爸爸、鸡蛋、沙门氏菌的故事，还有我怎么拦截了将近两年的鸡蛋。
他只是耸耸肩，说：“就这样呗。”
“嘿，可是她抓住我了！”
“谁？”
“朱莉！”
“哇哦，哥们儿！”
我告诉他我当时是怎么说的，以及她几乎马上开始在整修前院的故事。
“好吧，然后呢？她家院子乱成那样，并不是你的错。”
“但是后来我才发现，那所房子根本不是他们家的。他们很穷，因为她爸爸有个智障的弟弟，他们需要，呃，付钱抚养他。”加利特向我露出一个十足的傻乎乎的笑容：“智障？好吧，那能说明很多问题，不是吗？”
我不敢相信自己的耳朵：“什么？”
“你知道的，”他说，还挂着那个笑容，“我是说朱莉。”
我觉得心脏开始怦怦乱跳，下意识地握紧拳头。自从我学会不主动惹上麻烦以来，头一次想把别人臭揍一顿。
但我们是在图书馆。除此之外，我心里忽然闪过一个念头，如果我真的揍了他，他就会马上告诉所有人，说我爱上了朱莉安娜·贝克，可我没有！
于是，我摆出一副笑脸，说：“哦，好吧。”然后迅速找了个借口，能离他多远就离他多远。
放学后，加利特问我要不要去他家玩，可我一点儿兴趣也没有。我还是想揍他一顿。
我试着说服自己放弃这个念头，但我连五脏六腑都在生这个家伙的气。
伙计，他已经超出了我的底线，超出了很多。
可我没法把这件事彻底抛到脑后，因为，另一个挑战我底线的人，是我爸爸。
Chapter 09
Looming Large and Smelly
BRYCE
Sunday I woke up feeling like I'd been sick with the flu. Like I'd had one of those bad, convoluted, unexplainable fever dreams.
And what I've figured out about bad, convoluted, unexplainable dreams of any kind is that you've just got to shake them off. Try to forget that they ever happened.
I shook it off, all right, and got out of bed early 'cause I had eaten almost nothing the night before and I was starving! But as I was trucking into the kitchen, I glanced into the family room and noticed that my dad was sacked out on the couch.
This was not good. This was a sign of battles still in progress, and it made me feel like an invader in my own territory.
He rolled over and kind of groaned, then curled up tighter under his skinny little quilt and muttered some pretty unfriendly-sounding stuff into his pillow.
I beat it into the kitchen and poured myself a killer bowl of corn flakes. And I was about to drown it in milk when my mother comes waltzing in and snags it away from me. "You are going to wait, young man," she says. "This family is going to have Sunday breakfast together."
But I'm starving!
So are the rest of us. Now go! I'm making pancakes, and you're taking a shower. Go!
Like a shower's going to prevent imminent starvation.
But I headed down to the bathroom, and on my way I noticed that the family room was empty. The quilt was folded and back on the armrest, the pillow was gone... it was like I'd imagined the whole thing.
At breakfast my father didn't look like he'd spent the night on the couch. No bags under his eyes, no whiskers on his chin. He was decked out in tennis shorts and a lavender polo shirt, and his hair was all blown dry like it was a workday. Personally I thought the shirt looked kind of girly, but my mom said, "You look very nice this morning, Rick."
My father just eyed her suspiciously.
Then my grandfather came in, saying, "Patsy, the house smells wonderful! Good morning, Rick. Hi there, Bryce," and winked at me as he sat down and put his napkin in his lap.
Lyn-et-ta! my mother sang out. "Break-fast!"
My sister appeared in a triple-X miniskirt and platform shoes, with eyes that were definitely of the raccoon variety. My mother gasped, but then took a deep breath and said, "Good morning, honey. You're... you're... I thought you were going to church this morning with your friends."
I am. Lynetta scowled and sat down.
Mom brought pancakes, fried eggs, and hash browns to the table. My father just sat there stiff as a board for a minute, but finally he shook out his napkin and tucked it into his collar.
Well, my mother said as she sat down, "I have come up with a solution to our situation."
Here it comes ... my father muttered, but my mother gave him a glare that shut him down cold.
The solution is ... my mom said as she served herself some pancakes, "... we're going to invite the Bakers over for dinner."
My father blurts out, "What?"; Lynetta asks, "All of them?"; I put in, "Are you serious?"; but my grandfather heaps on another fried egg and says, "That, Patsy, is a marvelous idea."
Thanks, Dad, she says with a smile, then tells Lynetta and me, "Of course I'm serious, and yes, if Juli and the boys want to come, they'll be invited."
My sister starts cracking up. "Do you know what you're saying?"
Mom smooths the napkin into her lap. "Maybe it's about time I found out."
Lynetta turns to me and says, "She's inviting the core of Piss Poor over for dinner — oh, this is something I really woke up expecting!"
My father shakes his head and says, "Patsy, what purpose does this serve? So I made some stupid cracks last night. Is this the next phase in my punishment?"
It is something we should have done years ago.
Patsy, please. I know you feel bad about what you found out, but an awkward dinner party isn't going to change anything!
My mother ran syrup all over her pancakes, popped the top closed, licked her finger, then locked eyes with my dad. "We are having the Bakers over for dinner."
And that, she didn't have to tell him, was that.
Dad took a deep breath, then sighed and said, "Whatever you want, Patsy. Just don't say I didn't warn you." He took a bite of hash browns and mumbled, "A barbecue, I suppose?"
No, Rick. A sit-down dinner. Like we have when your clients come over.
He stopped chewing. "You're expecting them to dress up?"
Mom glared at him. "What I'm expecting is for you to behave like the gentleman I always thought you were."
Dad went back to his potatoes. Definitely safer than arguing with Mom.
Lynetta wound up eating the entire white of a fried egg and almost a whole pancake besides. Plain, of course, but from the way she was glutting and giggling as she ate, it was obvious that at least she was in a good mood.
Granddad ate plenty, even for him, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He was back to looking more granite than human. Me, I'd started tuning in to the fact that this dinner could be more than awkward — it could be trouble. Those rotten eggs were back from the grave, looming large and smelly right over my head.
Sure, Granddad knew, but no one else in my family did. What if it came up at dinner? I'd be dead, fried, cluck-faced meat.
Later, as I was brushing my teeth, I considered bribing Juli. Getting her on board so that nobody brought up the subject of eggs. Or maybe I could sabotage the dinner somehow. Make it not happen. Yeah, I could — I stopped myself and looked in the mirror. What kind of wimp was I, anyway? I spit and headed back to find my mom.
What is it, honey? she asked me as she wiped off the griddle. "You look worried."
I double-checked to make sure my dad or Lynetta wasn't lurking around somewhere, then whispered, "Will you swear to secrecy?"
She laughed. "I don't know about that."
I just waited.
What can be ... , she said, then looked at me and stopped cleaning. "Oh, it is serious. Honey, what's wrong?"
It had been ages since I'd voluntarily fessed up about something to my mom. It just didn't seem necessary anymore; I'd learned to deal with things on my own. At least, that's what I'd thought. Until now.
She touched my arm and said, "Bryce, tell me. What is it?"
I hopped up to sit on the counter, then took a deep breath and said, "It's about Juli's eggs."
About her ... eggs?
Yeah. Remember that whole chicken-hen-salmonella disaster?
That was quite a while ago, but sure...
Well, what you don't know is that Juli didn't bring eggs over just that once. She's been bringing them over every week... or about that, anyway.
She has? Why didn't I know about this?
Well, I was afraid Dad would get mad at me for not telling her we didn't want them, so I started intercepting them. I'd see her coming, get to her before she rang the bell, and then I'd toss them in the trash before anyone knew she'd been here.
Oh, Bryce!
Well, I kept thinking they'd stop! How long can a stupid chicken lay eggs?
But I take it they have stopped?
Yeah. As of last week. Because Juli caught me chucking a carton in the trash outside.
Oh, dear.
Exactly.
So what did you tell her?
I looked down and mumbled, "I told her that we were afraid of salmonella poisoning because their yard was such a mess. She ran off crying, and the next thing I know, she's starting to fix up their yard."
Oh, Bryce!
Exactly.
She was dead quiet for a minute; then very softly she said, "Thank you for your honesty, Bryce. It does help to explain a lot." She shook her head and said, "What that family must think of us,"and got back to cleaning the griddle. "All the more reason to have them over for dinner, if you ask me."
I whispered, "You're sworn to secrecy on this whole egg thing, right? I mean, Juli told Granddad, so he knows, but I don't want this to spread to, you know, Dad."
She studied me a minute, then said, "Tell me you've learned your lesson, honey."
I have, Mom.
Okay, then.
I let out a big sigh of relief. "Thanks."
Oh, and Bryce?
Yeah?
I'm very glad you told me about it. She kissed me on the cheek, then smiled and said, "Now, didn't I hear you promise you'd mow the lawn today?"
Right, I said, and headed outside to trim the turf.
That evening my mother announced that the Bakers would be over Friday night at six o'clock; that the menu included poached salmon, crab risotto, and fresh steamed vegetables; and that none of us had better weasel out of being there. My dad muttered that if we were really going to do this, it would be a whole lot better to barbecue because at least that way he'd have something to do, but my mom positively smoked him with her eyes and he dropped it.
So. They were coming. And it made seeing Juli at school even more uncomfortable than usual. Not because she gushed about it or even waved and winked or something. No, she was back to avoiding me. She'd say hi if we happened to run into each other, but instead of being, like, right over my shoulder anytime I looked, she was nowhere. She must have ducked out back doors and taken round about ways through campus. She was, I don't know, scarce.
I found myself looking at her in class. The teacher'd be talking and all eyes would be up front ... except mine. They kept wandering over to Juli. It was weird. One minute I'd be listening to the teacher, and the next I'd be completely tuned out, looking at Juli.
It wasn't until Wednesday in math that I figured it out. With the way her hair fell back over her shoulders and her head was tilted, she looked like the picture in the paper. Not just like it — the angle was different, and the wind wasn't blowing through her hair — but she did look like the picture. A lot like the picture.
Making that connection sent a chill down my spine. And I wondered — what was she thinking? Could she really be that interested in root derivations?
Darla Tressler caught me watching, and man, she gave me the world's wickedest smile. If I didn't do something fast, this was going to spread like wildfire, so I squinted at her and whispered, "There's a bee in her hair, stupid," then pointed around in the air like, There it goes, see?
Darla's neck whipped around searching for the bee, and I straightened out my focus for the rest of the day. The last thing I needed was to be scorched by the likes of Darla Tressler.
That night I was doing my homework, and just to prove to myself that I'd been wrong, I pulled that newspaper article out of my trash can. And as I'm flipping it over, I'm telling myself, It's a distortion of reality; it's my imagination; she doesn't really look like that...
But there she was. The girl in my math class, two rows over and one seat up, glowing through newsprint.
Lynetta barged in. "I need your sharpener,"she said.
I slammed my binder closed over the paper and said, "You're supposed to knock!" And then, since she was zooming in and the paper was still sticking out, I crammed the binder into my backpack as fast as I could.
What are you trying to hide there, baby brother?
Nothing, and stop calling me that! And don't barge into my room anymore!
Give me your sharpener and I'm history, she said with her hand out.
I dug it out of my drawer and tossed it at her, and sure enough, she disappeared.
But two seconds later my mom was calling for me, and after that, well, I forgot that the paper was in my binder.
Until first period the next morning, that is. Man! What was I supposed to do with it? I couldn't get up and throw it out; Garrett was right there. Besides that, Darla Tressler's in that class, and I could tell —she was keeping an eye out for wayward bees. If she caught wind of this, I'd be the one stung.
Then Garrett reaches over to snag a piece of paper like he does about fourteen times a day, only I have a complete mental spaz and slam down on his hand with mine.
Dude! he says. "What's your problem?"
Sorry, I say, tuning in to the fact that he was only going for lined paper, not newspaper.
Dude, he says again. "You know you've been really spaced lately? Anyone else tell you that?" He rips a piece of paper out of my binder, then notices the edges of the newspaper. He eyes me, and before I can stop him, he whips it out.
I pounce on him and tear it out of his hands, but it's too late. He's seen her picture.
Before he can say a word, I get in his face and say, "You shut up, you hear me? This is not what you think."
Whoa, kick back, will ya? I wasn't thinking anything... But I could see the little gears go click-click-click in his brain. Then he smirks at me and says, "I'm sure you've got a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you're carrying a picture of Juli Baker around with you."
The way he said it scared me. Like he was playing with the idea of roasting me in front of the whole class. I leaned over and said, "Zip it,would you?"
The teacher hammered on us to be quiet, but it didn't stop Garrett from smirking at me or doing the double-eyebrow wiggle in the direction of my binder. After class Darla tried to act all cool and preoccupied, but she had her radar up and pointed our way. She shadowed me practically all day, so there was no real window of opportunity to explain things to Garrett.
What was I going to tell him, anyway? That the paper was in my binder because I was trying to hide it from my sister? That would help.
Besides, I didn't want to make up some lame lie about it. I actually wanted to talk to Garrett. I mean, he was my friend, and a lot had happened in the last couple of months that was weighing on me. I thought that if I talked to him, maybe he'd help get me back on track. Help me to stop thinking about everything. Garrett was real reliable in that arena.
Luckily, in social studies our class got library time to do research for our famous historical figure report. Darla and Juli were both in that class, but I managed to drag Garrett into a back corner of the library without either of them noticing. And the minute we were by ourselves, I found myself laying into Garrett about chickens.
He shakes his head at me and says, "Dude! What are you talking about?"
Remember when we went and looked over her fence?
Back in the sixth grade?
Yeah. Remember how you were down on me for wondering what a hen was?
He rolled his eyes. "Not this again..."
Man, you didn't know jack-diddly-squat about chickens. I put my life in your hands and you dumped me in a bucket of bull.
So I told him about my dad and the eggs and salmonella and how I'd been intercepting eggs for nearly two years.
He just shrugged and said, "Makes sense to me."
Man, she caught me!
Who?
Juli!
Whoa, Dude!
I told him about what I'd said, and how almost right after that she was out playing weed warrior in her front yard.
Well, so? It's not your fault her yard's a mess.
But then I found out that they don't even own that house. They're all poor because her dad's got a retarded brother that they're, you know, paying for.
Garrett gives me a real chumpy grin and says, "A retard? Well, that explains a lot, doesn't it?"
I couldn't believe my ears. "What?"
You know, he says, still grinning, "about Juli."
My heart started pounding and my hands clenched up. And for the first time since I'd learned to dive away from trouble, I wanted to deck somebody.
But we were in the library. And besides, it flashed through my mind that if I decked him for what he'd said, he'd turn around and tell everyone that I was hot for Juli Baker, and I was not hot for Juli Baker!
So I made myself laugh and say, "Oh, right," and then came up with an excuse to put some distance between him and me.
After school Garrett asked me to come to his house and hang for a while, but I had zero interest in that. I still wanted to slug him.
I tried to talk myself down from feeling that way, but in my gut I was flaming mad at the guy. He'd crossed the line, man. He'd crossed it big-time.
And what made the whole thing so stinking hard to ignore was the fact that standing right next to him, on the other side of the line, was my father.
