Two-Faced #2

by Lin Oliver

“Of course. I have to. Did you think I would keep this a secret from him?”

  Actually, I did think that. When it came to protecting us from our parents, GoGo always had our backs. She’d wrangle an extra hour for us until bedtime or sneak flashlights into our room so we could read under the covers or let us eat extra candy on Halloween.

  “He doesn’t have to know, GoGo. It’s not like I’m not being punished.”

  “He’s your father, Charlie.”

  “I know. But how’s it going to help me for him to know?”

  “Probably not at all; however, you’re missing the point, my darling. I know about what you did. And now that I know, I can’t lie to protect you. Haven’t you learned anything from your experience? That’s exactly what you did with your friend. Lied and stole to protect her. Don’t you see? If I protected you from your father, I’d be just as guilty as you are.”

  “But, GoGo, he’s going to be really mad.”

  “It won’t be pleasant, I can assure you of that.”

  I shuddered at the thought of the confrontation with my dad. He didn’t like it when we lost a tennis match. This thing was going to be a major scene.

  “Where is he now?” I asked. Maybe there was still time to pack some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and run away like Claudia did in my all-time favorite book, From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. Of course, Claudia and her brother ran away to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which is in New York, but maybe I could find a museum in Los Angeles to hide in.

  GoGo looked at her watch.

  “Let’s see. He’s on the way back from Santa Barbara. If he beats the traffic, he should be here in about an hour. You’d best prepare yourself, Charlie. Get a snack. You’ll need some fortification.”

  I suddenly realized that I was starving. I hadn’t eaten much for dinner the night before, and Sammie and I ran out before breakfast. I skipped lunch to work in the garden with Luz, which meant it had been twenty-four hours since I’d eaten. I left GoGo sitting on the deck and went into the kitchen. Ryan was at the counter, pouring a huge bowl of cereal. He eats cereal out of a mixing bowl, the big one in the stack of three. Sammie had her hand in the cookie jar, which technically she wasn’t supposed to do because she’s not supposed to eat sugar. Esperanza was putting a pan of chicken into the oven to roast.

  “Hola, Charlie,” she said with a bright smile.

  “Hey, Esperanza,” I answered.

  “Candido is coming to pick me up. Maybe I tell him to bring Alicia to visit with Sammie. Maybe you could join them. You look so sad.”

  “Not today, Espie,” Ryan said, pouring half the carton of milk into his giant bowl. “There’s going to be fireworks here.”

  “That’s good. Alicia, she loves fireworks.”

  “Not these kind, Espie. Trust me, it’s not going to be pretty.”

  “Ryan, remember to take the chicken out in an hour, or it won’t be pretty, either. It will be a very ugly chicken.”

  “Good one, Espie.” Ryan laughed. “Very punny.”

  She laughed, too. Then she smoothed her dress, took the rubber band out of her hair, and shook her hair loose. Still smiling, she went into the living room to get her things together.

  “Alicia looks like her mother,” I said to Sammie as I grabbed a banana and peeled it. “I never noticed before.”

  “I’ve been there when Esperanza gets all dressed up to go to church,” she said. “She looks really hot.”

  “Speaking of hot,” Ryan chimed in, his mouth full of cereal. “You should have seen your one true love, Spencer Ballard, at lunch today. He was boiling mad.”

  “About what?”

  “Beats me. He was yelling at Sean and Dwayne . . . the one you guys so pathetically call the General. Spencer was so mad, the teacher on duty made him pick up his lunch tray and go to another table.”

  “You didn’t overhear anything?” I asked.

  “Not much,” Ryan answered. “Spencer said Sean and the General took advantage of someone. I couldn’t hear who. He said they were no better than bullies. That did it for Sean. I thought he was going to punch Spencer’s lights out. Typical seventh-grader stuff. You kids should grow up and act mature like us.”

  Then he pressed his cereal spoon to his face and balanced it on his nose. Yeah, real mature.

  I tried to do everything right before my dad got home. I set the table, put some potatoes in to bake, and basted the chicken. I made a pitcher of lemonade, straightened up the living room, and even watched some of the Improving Your Tennis Serve video and took notes. Ryan just sat there on the couch shaking his head as I made everything perfect.

  “It’s not going to help, Charles. Your goose is cooked.”

  “I thought you said I was duck meat.”

  “Whatever kind of poultry you are, dude, you’re fried,” he said. “Pretty punny, huh?”

  Sammie was in our room, talking to Alicia on the phone. Apparently, after the history midterm, Alicia had revved up their party and sent e-vites to all their friends. She and Sammie were going over the list of the kids who had accepted so far. It was all the kids who weren’t invited to Ben’s bar mitzvah.

  Ben’s bar mitzvah . . . at least I had that to look forward to. November twenty-third was still three weeks away. It was going to be a tough time. Detention every day after school. No cheerleading practice. Working in the community garden. Reporting in to Ms. King twice a week. Trying to bring up my history grade. Not much fun in any of it. But at least at the end of the month, I’d still get to go to the party of the year. Just the thought made me happy. I felt like Cinderella slaving over her chores while she looked forward to going to the ball. I wished I knew what was going on with my Prince Charming. Maybe his fight with Sean and the General was about defending me. But then, maybe it was about something totally different. You never know with boys.

  GoGo was back inside, resting on the couch, when I heard my dad’s car pull up in the driveway.

  “Time to face the music,” she said.

  “He’s going to kill me.”

  “You’ll live. And remember, darling, that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  I know she meant that to be encouraging, but instead it just totally scared me.

  My dad was in a great mood when he walked in.

  “Smells delicious in here,” he said, throwing his blue Sporty Forty windbreaker over the back of the flowered chair. “And it looks great, too. I like it when it’s tidy.”

  “I straightened up, Dad. And there’s baked potatoes in the oven.”

  “Charlie, you’re a good girl.” He bent down and gave me a kiss on the top of the head.

  “Rick,” GoGo said, “Charlie has something to say to you.”

  “Can’t it wait until after dinner? I’m starving. I worked three matches today, including one wheelchair tennis match. Bless their hearts, those kids can really move around the court. They’re amazingly athletic.”

  “I’m going to go take a shower,” GoGo said to me. “You two talk it out.”

  Dad gave me a puzzled look and sat down in the flowered chair.

  “This sounds serious,” he said. “I hope you’re not injured. You have tournament matches every other Sunday until Christmas.”

  “I’m not injured, Dad. And I’m going to work really hard to do well in those matches.”

  “That’s my girl. So then why the long face?”

  “I got in some trouble at school today,” I began, trying to adopt a casual tone. At first, he didn’t look too concerned, but as I proceeded with the story, his eyebrows furrowed and he started to do that clenching thing with his jaw. By the time I got to the Honor Board part, he was on his feet, pacing back and forth. I finished with telling him the verdict and the school consequences, along with a big and hea
rtfelt apology.

  I thought he would yell, but he didn’t. He was quiet for a long time, which was way worse. He just kept pacing back and forth, back and forth.

  “I knew your mother should never have gone away,” he said at last. “I knew that without her supervision something terrible like this would happen with you girls.”

  “It’s not Mom’s fault,” I said. “She didn’t do anything. I did. I made the mistake.”

  “This is not just a little mistake, Charlie, a minor miscalculation. What you did was make a major error in judgment. The kind of error that makes me doubt everything you do.”

  Oh, this is worse than I thought.

  “I don’t know how you expect me to trust you,” he went on. “Can you help me with that, Charlie? Can you tell me how you’re planning to rebuild my trust in you?”

  “I’ll do everything right, Dad. I swear. I’ve learned my lesson. I have to stay after school for detention, but the minute I come home, I’ll practice with Sammie. I’ll do my chores just like I did today and finish my homework on time. And we’ll do really well in the tournaments. I promise, Dad. I’ll show you that I’m responsible and that you can trust me.”

  He listened, just gazing out the window at the waves crashing on the beach, clenching his jaw without even realizing it. I heard a click and saw that the door to our bedroom had opened a crack. On the other side, I could see Sammie and Ryan poking their noses out, listening.

  “I’m going to take you at your word, Charlie,” he said at last. “I’m going to give you a chance to rebuild my trust, but your behavior cannot go without consequences. You are grounded for the entire month of November. You will go to school and take care of your responsibilities there. You will practice with your sister and focus on your tennis. And if I see that you are doing everything you promise, your life can go back to normal by the end of November.”

  “By what date at the end of November?” I asked. The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  “I said the end of November. What about that do you not understand?”

  “But, Dad,” I whined. “Ben Feldman’s bar mitzvah is November twenty-third.”

  “Then I’m afraid Ben Feldman will have to celebrate his bar mitzvah without you.”

  He stood up and headed into the kitchen. I ran after him.

  “You can’t do that,” I begged him. “Please. You remember, it’s not just another party. It’s the one at Dodger Stadium. The best party of the year. I can’t miss it.”

  “You should have thought of that earlier,” he said. “Before you used such poor judgment.”

  “But, Dad . . .”

  “Do not ‘but, Dad’ me, Charlie. You brought this on yourself. You’ve got some things to prove to me. This conversation is over.”

  He turned and went into the kitchen. I could hear him getting the chicken and potatoes out of the oven. I could hear him, but I couldn’t see him very well. That’s because my eyes were filled with tears.

  I ran into my room and nearly knocked Sammie and Ryan down. I flung myself on the bed sobbing.

  “Wow, Charles, I’m really sorry,” Ryan said. “That’s rough.”

  “Don’t cry,” Sammie said, coming over to sit on the edge of my bed. “We’ll figure something out. Here, have a tissue.”

  She picked up the box from our nightstand and held it out to me. As I reached out, I saw what had been tucked away underneath it. It was the invitation to Ben’s bar mitzvah, the perfect and amazing midnight-blue passport to fun. MS. CHARLOTTE JOY DIAMOND, it said in elegant, sparkly letters. I picked it up and looked at it, held it to my nose to smell the salty peanut aroma.

  This is where it all had begun.

  And this is where it would end, with my big, fat, wet tears falling on the beautiful golden letters.

  Chapter 15

  “At least let us bring you a Frappuccino,” Lauren said. “It will cheer you up.”

  It was another rotten Thursday, and I was sitting in Ms. King’s conference room serving detention. For the past two weeks, I had spent two after-school days a week there and three days a week with Ms. Pontoon in the library. Although I didn’t like any of it, I liked the library days better. At least there was something to do. I helped Ms. Pontoon return the books to the shelves and cleaned off the computer screens and keyboards, which was badly needed because those sixth-graders leave the keys really sticky. I guess that’s what happens when you eat red licorice for lunch.

  On the days when I went to Ms. King’s for detention, there was never much to do. She let me work on homework, but it was really hard to concentrate in there. Two other kids named Chelsea and Anthony had detention for leaving the school grounds at lunch, and all they did was talk nonstop about their weekend plans. I couldn’t join in, because of course, I had no weekend plans—unless you consider doing homework, practicing tennis, and watching TV as plans, which I don’t.

  Lauren always stopped by Ms. King’s to visit. Technically, you can’t have visitors in detention, but Ms. King wasn’t all that strict, and Lauren only stayed for a few minutes.

  “Come on, Charlie. Say yes,” Lauren said. “Ryan and I could walk over to Starbucks and be back here in ten minutes.” She and Ryan had gotten into the habit of going to Starbucks on Thursdays because her cheerleading practice and his volleyball practice got out at the same time.

  “You can bring me a peppermint hot chocolate,” Anthony piped up.

  “Sure, with extra whipped cream,” Ryan said. “How about a poppy seed muffin? And maybe some of that yummy lemon pound cake?”

  “Yeah, sounds great.”

  “It was a joke, dude. Where’s your sense of humor?”

  “I save it for funny things,” Anthony answered. He wasn’t amused and I didn’t blame him. Sitting in after-school detention every day tends to put you in a bad mood.

  “Thanks for stopping by, guys,” I said to Ryan and Lauren. “I’m okay here.”

  “Yeah, we have a hot Twenty Questions competition going on,” Chelsea added. “It’s all kinds of fun.”

  Lauren slipped into the chair next to me and got that confidential tone in her voice that I love.

  “So I talked to Spencer today in science,” she whispered. “He asked about you.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t. He’s mad at me. He passed by the garden at lunch and said he was checking to see if my carrots had sprouted.”

  “Oh, the old carrot excuse,” Lauren giggled. “Can’t you see through that, Charlie? He just wants to talk to you.”

  “I don’t think so, Lauren. He hasn’t been the same since the Honor Board thing. Last week, when we happened to be next to each other in the cafeteria line, I asked him if he voted to expel me or keep me in school.”

  “Of course he voted to keep you, silly. He’s one of us.”

  “He wouldn’t say. He said he had promised to keep the vote secret, and he was bound to that promise. Since then, we haven’t talked much.”

  “None of us have talked to you much. You’re stuck inside like a hermit. And we all miss you tons. I wish you could come shopping with us this weekend. Jillian and Brooke and I are going to get shoes for Ben’s party. My dress is black so I’ve decided I’m going with silver shoes.”

  “Silver and black are really cute together,” I nodded, trying to sound cheerful. I had done my best to put Ben’s party out of my mind, which I was able to do, like, 2 percent of the time. The other 98 percent of the time I was miserable about having to miss it.

  “Maybe your dad will change his mind,” Lauren said.

  “That’s not going to happen. He even told my mom all about it, and she’s on his side. GoGo, too. Everyone in the family’s against me.”

  “Correction,” Ryan, whose big ears had probably overheard our whole conversation, interrupted. “Eve
ry adult in the family is. Sammie and I are on your side. In fact, we happen to have something in the works to spring you. A prison break.”

  This got my interest. “What is it?”

  “Can’t say yet, Charles. It’s a top secret plan.”

  “Really?”

  “Yuppo. Let me just say, it involves hiding a file in a cake so you can use it to saw the bars on your room in half and break out when the guards aren’t watching. I saw that in a really cool prison movie once.”

  That’s the thing about Ryan. He wants to help. His heart is in the right place. But in the end, the ridiculous side of him wins out, and he turns out to be just a big old goofball.

  “I saw that movie, man,” Anthony said. “The guy got away and escaped to Mexico.”

  Anthony put out his arm, and he and Ryan had a major fist bump.

  “I’ve never understood why boys love prison movies,” Lauren remarked. “There’s no kissing and all those inmates wear such ugly clothes.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to discuss that weighty matter at another time,” Ms. King said, coming out of her office and pushing her glasses up on top of her head. “This is detention, not a chitchat room. You kids have been here much too long.”

  Lauren and Ryan said good-bye and hurried out the door. Ms. King went back into her office and closed the door. After two seconds, she stuck her head out and said to me, “By the way, tell her it’s all about male bonding.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Prison movies,” she said. “They are the ultimate male-bonding experience. It’s a psychological fact.”

  Then she smiled and closed the door.

  My dad had gotten into the habit of picking me up after detention. I know what you’re thinking . . . that he felt bad for me and was trying to be nice. But that wasn’t what was going on at all. He needed me to get home fast so Sammie and I could get in at least a forty-five-minute workout before sunset. Daylight savings time had ended the first week in November, and it got dark by five o’clock, so my detention had really cut into our practice schedule. We were playing well, though. We had sailed through our first tournament in November at the Malibu Racquet Club, winning both our matches in straight sets. I don’t want to say that being grounded was good for my tennis, but there is something to be said for not having any distractions.