Scooping Dara off the floor, Barnabas holds her in his arms. “Did you have a good day today?” he asks her, and she nods her head furiously.
The Laos were young when they had Barnabas and decided later on to finally have two more kids. I think their secret plan was to have a babysitter already handy to watch the smaller ones. Also, no one must have been qualified to have an “A” name, since it goes B, C, and D.
Mrs. Lao walks into the room, black hair in a sleek bob, and she motions Channery back to the kitchen. “Channery, eat now!” She looks at Barnabas. “Barnabas, put Dara down, she need finish food.” Barnabas sets down Dara, who scampers off giggling to go and eat.
“Hey, Mrs. Lao.” I wave.
“Ah. Lia. You stay for dinner? Rice, chicken, and ice cream,” she says and waves her hand to the rectangular table where the girls are already sitting.
“You know, I’m all about that rice.”
Grabbing me by the shoulders, she practically shoves me toward the kitchen. I pass the TV and bright yellow chaise.
“And, Barnabas. How school today? You keep up grades?” Mrs. Lao asks as they walk behind me.
“You know it, Ma.”
When I turn around, she’s pulling at his pant leg. “No more dress like this.”
Barnabas shrugs his shoulder and smiles. “Then why did you buy me another pair of pants like this the other day?”
“You threatened to go to school in only underwear!” she hisses.
I give Barnabas a “what the hell” eyebrow raise, and he just smirks.
“You know I wouldn’t really go to school in my underwear, Ma. But, I did clean the whole apartment for you and babysit the girls all last week. So, I practically paid for it myself.”
Mrs. Lao makes a frustrated sound and turns to walk into the kitchen. I move out of the way as she shuffles past me. She grabs a plate and fills it up with rice and chicken and hands it to me. “Thanks, Mrs. Lao,” I say.
Grabbing the next plate from Mrs. Lao, Barnabas scuffs his feet to the table toward the wooden chair in between the girls. Dara is slapping the chair ferociously while Channery is lightly patting it—they both have the same adorable short haircuts.
After dinner at the Laos’, I head back home to my dads’ apartment to stay the night.
“Hey, Dom,” I say when I open the door and find him in the kitchen putting together a homemade pizza.
“You’re just in time, sweetie. I’m making pizza for dinner.” He plops several pepperonis down on the pizza.
“I actually just ate at Barnabas’s house.” I look around the room. “Where’s Dad?”
Dom shakes his bald head, and his eyes seem to show amusement as they shift to mine. “He’s at the grocery store, loading up on bacon.”
“Bacon?” I ask as I set my backpack down next to the bar counter.
“He’s going to enter that bacon eating contest at Piggy Palooza.”
“What? He doesn’t even like bacon!” I may not like fish, but Dad hates pretty much anything that comes from pigs—that is insanity.
Dom lets out a loud chuckle. “I know, but he’s determined to win this.”
“Are you going to enter, too?” I could see Dom totally winning the contest—he loves bacon.
He points at his stomach. “And lose all the progress I’ve made on my body transformation—please. Also, get your phone stopwatch ready—he’s going to want you to time how long it takes him.”
What an interesting night this is going to be.
****
“Bacon contest?” Barnabas asks when we walk into the orchestra classroom the next day. He wants to rehearse early again this morning, and this time I’m staying with him in the practice room. I want no chance of another run-in with Sophie.
“It was rough last night. Dad started choking. Not that he was literally choking. You know how dad gets all dramatic.”
Barnabas nods his head as he opens the door to the practice room and walks toward the harp.
“Anyway,” I continue, “Dom throws down his phone, accidentally cracking it on the ground, and tries to give him the Heimlich—which made Dad heave and take off running toward the bathroom.” I shake my head just thinking about it.
“So, I take it Daddy is done with bacon?”
“No! He’s going to go buy more today. He said that was just practice.”
While he’s ahead of the game, Dad should probably throw in the towel before he does something ridiculous.
Barnabas takes a seat on the stool in front of the harp. “Oh man, I’m coming over to watch that.”
Nodding my head, I drag the chair from against the wall to sit next to him.
“Before I forget, whatever you do, do not give Sophie my phone number. I told her my phone’s broken,” Barnabas instructs.
“She sees you on your phone all the time,” I say. He had it out just yesterday at lunch in front of her.
“I know, I told her my calls, texts, and data don’t work.” Barnabas plucks at a few strings to check the tuning.
“What? I know she didn’t believe that crock.”
“She did!”
“I feel a little bad,” I say.
“I don’t! She needs to take a hint.”
I nod in agreement.
After listening to Barnabas strum for a while, I take off to class a few minutes early. The door is already wide open. Mr. Walker is missing in action, but two guys are already there—Tweedle Jerk and Tweedle Jerkier.
I’m not dealing with this crap today. I march up to Cole, who is sitting in my seat again, and watch as Kiev’s eyes seem to follow me all the way until I’m standing in between both of them.
“You need to get out of my seat,” I say to Cole. Does he have his usual basketball shirt on today? He does.
He holds up both hands like he’s trying to tame a wild boar. “Calm down. Calm down, Miss Ophelia Abbie. The bell has not announced the start of this oh-so-wonderful class.”
I give him a look of disdain. “Enough with the Ophelia stuff.”
“What’s wrong with the name Ophelia?” Kiev pipes in. “It’s like the name from Hamlet.”
“What?” I turn to Kiev, not sure what this idiot is talking about.
“You know, O-phe-li-a.” He draws the name out super slowly to get his point across.
“I don’t give a crap about Hamlet—that has nothing to do with my name,” I huff.
Tapping his fingers on the desk like he’s typing on a keyboard, Kiev stares at my face. “Are you sure your parents didn’t name you after the character?”
“Who the hell names their kid after a stupid Shakespearian play?” I’ve read two, and I hated them both.
“Plenty of people. Juliet Weaver, in our grade, was named after Romeo and Juliet.”
“Quit being pretentious.”
“Quit being a—”
I narrow my eyes at him. “A what?”
“You know what you’re being.”
“Shut up, Kiev. Oh, my parents named me after the capital of Russia, because I’m such an important person who has to answer questions for people when they don’t need help answering!” I yell.
“Um, Kiev is actually the capital of Ukraine.” He bobs his head. “You know that, right?” I hear Cole’s loud hooting to my right.
That’s it! Without thinking, I slam my fist directly into Kiev’s nose.
Chapter Seven
Kiev + Ouch
“Ouch!”
Chapter Eight
Lia + Shit
Shit!
Chapter Nine
Kiev + Nose
My nose throbs and pulsates. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!” I touch the tip and look at my fingers—blood. What the hell? Covering my nose, I look up at Lia. “Why’d you do that?”
She stands by her desk with a vein bulging up her forehead and points a trembling finger at me, but doesn’t say a word.
Cole springs off Lia’s chair and squats by my side. “We need to take you to the hospital for
some emergency surgery, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.” He looks over his shoulder at Lia, glaring. “The police will come soon and handcuff you.”
She narrows her brown eyes at him, as if wanting to punch him, too.
A blonde girl with a high ponytail and a redheaded guy step closer—classmates start to surround us. But no one speaks.
I press the bridge of my nose a little harder and address Cole, “Dude, you aren’t helping.”
He throws his hands in the air. “Just trying to help with the situation.”
“Shut up, Cole. Quit acting like an idiot.” This is the first time Lia speaks after destroying my nose.
Cole looks at me, as if asking for permission to keep his mouth shut.
I give him a nod, then inspect my hand again—lots of red. “Shit.”
Lia gestures at my face. “Is it really that bad?”
“Why’d you do that?” I show her my blood-covered hand.
She winces, her eyes widening in horror. “You … I…”
“What’s going on here?” a deep voice thunders across the classroom.
The crowd surrounding us dissipates in a second, uncovering Mr. “Dead” Walker. We call him that because he sports permanent bags under his eyes. It doesn’t help that he’s more on the skinny side.
Cole stands. “Sir, Miss Ophelia Abbie and Mr. Kiev Jimenez got into a heated discussion that ended in a blood bath.”
The lanky teacher shakes his head and marches our way with purpose.
I stand from my desk on wobbly legs and grab onto the first thing I come across. Which happens to be Lia’s shoulders. I let go instantly, but as I drop back onto my chair, I notice the blood smeared on her oversized t-shirt’s left shoulder. She sort of resembles Norman Bates or Hannibal Lecter at this moment.
Mr. Walker appears in my line of sight with a wrinkled forehead, and inspects my face. “We need to get you to the infirmary. Can you walk?”
“Yes.” I stand, but dizziness hits me.
Mr. Walker wraps an arm around my back for support. “Put your arm around my shoulder, son.”
“I can handle it, Mr. Walker.”
“Nonsense.”
This time, I listen to him because my equilibrium’s a little off.
“Can I help, sir?” Cole asks.
Mr. Walker points his chin at me. “Help me with the other side.”
Cole walks around us. “Place your limb over my shoulders, Mr. Kiev Jimenez. Don’t get any ideas, though.”
I chuckle, making my nose hurt a little more.
As the two of them force me to take baby steps toward the door, like a newborn, my classmates step aside and look at my face with wide eyes. When we reach the door, Mr. Walker looks over his shoulder. “Miss Abbie.”
I crane my neck to Lia, who straightens like a soldier.
“Wait at the principal’s office,” the teacher adds.
She gulps hard and nods.
We limp our way forward, passing guys and girls, who study my face and what’s left of my nose, I guess. After excruciating minutes of concentrating on my Vans, we arrive at the school’s closet of an infirmary.
The nurse in turn—a slim redhead in her early twenties—sets her phone on a table and stands. “What do we have here?”
Cole separates from me and shakes the nurse’s hand. “Hello, Miss Nurse. My friend here, Mr. Kiev Jimenez, has a severe case of slam-o-fist-on-the-nose … itis.”
“O-kay.” She turns her attention to me and gestures to the examination bed. “Can you sit there?”
I nod and sit on the edge of the bed while she steps to a medical cabinet and produces alcohol, gauze, and other stuff.
The teacher turns to face Cole. “Thanks for your help, son.”
Cole bows. “You’re certainly welcome, Mr. Walker.”
“You can leave now, son.” The teacher waves him off.
“If it’s not too much inconvenient for Nurse…” Cole cocks his head at her. “Pardon me, but I failed to catch your name.”
The nurse looks at him with a raised brow, medical products in hand. “I’ve never said it.”
Cole grins. “This is the perfect opportunity to inform us of your name, Miss Nurse.”
Mr. Walker clears his throat and faces Cole. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
My friend blinks. “I’m not your son anymore?”
Even with my pulsating nose, I stifle a laugh. “Just leave, dude.”
“Actually,” the nurse says, “everybody leave. I need to check the patient’s nose.”
Cole nods at her. “Yes, Miss Nurse, whose name shall remain unknown.”
She crinkles her nose at him.
Mr. Walker takes Cole by the elbow and drags him all the way out, closing the door behind them.
The nurse sets her medical supplies on a little tray attached to the bed. “Moving on.” She grabs a cotton swab and dabs at my nose, a strong alcohol smell entering my nostrils.
“Ouch!” I flinch.
“Sorry-sorry.” She narrows her green eyes. “I have to clean this, so it’s gonna hurt a little.”
I gulp. “Is it, you know, broken?”
“I don’t know yet.” She points at my nose with her swab. “May I?”
I hold out a finger. “What if it’s broken and bone shards are lodged in my brain?”
She chuckles. “That’s an urban myth.” She turns serious. “I need to continue cleaning.”
“I’m ready.” I’m not, but it is what it is—confront it like a man.
The nurse discards the bloody cotton swab in her hands and grabs a clean one. “Here it goes.” She dabs at my nose again, but this time a bit gentler.
Several bloody swabs later, she cups my face and bobs her head. She presses the bridge of my nose gently. “Does that hurt?”
I wince. “A little.”
She applies more pressure. “What about now?”
“Not bad.” I’m not lying.
She repeats the operation, pressing here and there. And I tell her if it hurts or not.
She smiles. “Your nose isn’t broken.”
A wave of relief travels through my body. “Really?”
“Yes—the bleeding’s stopped.” She sets a hand on my shoulder. “That’s a sign of a healthy nose.”
“Are we done here, then?” I ask.
“Almost.” She grabs something that looks like a mini-tampon from the tray.
I lean back, cocking an eyebrow. “What the heck is that?”
“This?” She waggles the mini-tampon under my face. “It’s a nose plug.”
“Oh.” I relax my shoulders.
“Tilt your head back a little.”
I do as I’m told. “Like this?”
“Mmm, hmm.”
I feel the nose plug sliding inside my nostril and on instinct, I wrinkle my nose.
“Don’t move,” she says in a soothing voice.
“Right.”
She continues the torture for a moment, then tries my other nostril.
“I can’t breathe,” I say.
“Breathe through your mouth,” she says. “I’m almost done. Stay still.” She maneuvers the last nose plug in, taking eternity-long seconds to set it in place. “There. You can tilt your head down now.”
As I do that, her face slips into view.
“Thanks.” I look around. “Can I, you know, go now?”
The nurse studies my face. “The other guy must have been strong.”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t a guy.”
“Oh.” She covers her mouth for a moment. “A girl did this to you?”
I nod. “She—” I cut myself short. With all the zero tolerance rules going on at school, I don’t want either of us to get suspended or something. “It was an … an accident.” I lie.
She crosses her arms, not buying it. “All punching and kicking incidents are accidents around here.”
What can I say to that? I shrug.
“Try to stand up.” She motions down. “Go g
ently.”
“Okay.” I thrust myself up and immediately get a little dizzy. I take a deep breath through my mouth and try again. Although my legs feel rubbery, I manage to stand by myself.
She steps to the door and swings it open.
Cole stands outside, and when he spots me, he stretches his arms out toward me. “You survived, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”
“That, I did, dude.” I take cautious steps outside, where I swivel my head, hoping my teacher isn’t hovering around. “Where’s Mr. Walker?”
“He had a class to teach. Government, I think.” Cole rubs his double chin. “I’m your official escort to court.”
I lean on the infirmary’s doorframe. “Court?”
“Yes, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.” He waves. “Hello, Miss Nurse of unknown mysterious name.”
She joins me and stretches a hand to Cole. “I’m Nurse Adelaide.”
He clasps it. “Adelaide is your last name?”
She nods.
“Like the Australian city.” He shakes her hand. “This is indeed a mystery, Nurse Adelaide.”
“Dude,” I say, “let her hand go.”
He does as told.
She cocks her head. “What mystery?”
“My friend here is named after the capital of Ukraine, and you have a city last name.” He looks up for a couple of seconds. “Perhaps, I should call myself Lubbock or Brazoria, in honor of West Texas.”
“Okay, then,” the nurse says.
“Thanks for everything,” I say to Nurse Adelaide and turn to Cole. “Let’s go, dude.”
“Of course.” He takes the nurse’s hand and kisses her fingers. “Enchanté, Miss Adelaide.”
She rips her hand back and wipes off Cole’s saliva on her uniform. “Um, I’m going to go back to work now. Feel better, Mr. Jimenez.” She turns around and goes back inside the infirmary.
Cole leads me through the corridor toward the principal’s office.
“Did you see her face?” he asks as we walk. “I think she’s in love with me.”
I swat a hand at him. “You’re impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” he replies as we turn a corner.
“That sounds like a tennis shoes commercial.”
He stops and faces me. “Or a blue pill commercial.” He curls and uncurls a finger. “The one about old men with lazy fingers.”
Bacon Pie Page 6
