Of course, everybody went crazy again. Fuming, I purposely avoided looking at my mother as I remembered her words . . . ” it’s not like anyone can see them under that.” Yeah, right. After the crowd settled down, Mayor Mort launched into a long-winded speech about the fruit industry. Bored out of my skull, I noticed a flurry of activity at the entrance to the rodeo grounds. A group of people approached the grandstand, their every move captured by a camera crew from a local TV station.
Terror filled my heart and I inhaled sharply. Oh, my God, had the camera crew been here all along? Would my bare buns be the lead story on the five o’clock news?
Mayor Mort droned on, but every eye in the place was on the newcomers, who stopped directly in front of the judges’ stand. There were ten of them. Three big guys wearing mirrored sunglasses, four mini-skirted Latino chicks exposing maximum cleavage and two nervous-looking men in business suits. I couldn’t quite make out the tenth person, what with the entourage milling around him. A low buzz arose from the crowd.
Suddenly, a piercing scream rang out and I heard a familiar voice yell, “It’s Junior! Oh my God, it’s him!”
The screamer was my best friend and neighbor, Mercedes Trujillo, who stood on the top row of 263
the bleachers, waving her arms and jumping up and down like a lunatic. Mayor Mort’s mouth snapped shut as the entire female population of Peacock Flats poured out of the stands and swarmed around Mexico’s newest daytime drama heartthrob, my former boyfriend, Junior Martinez. I wasn’t the only one who knew how to make an entrance!
It was one of those weird, surreal moments that would surely live forever in my memory. Junior and I, standing on the dusty track that circled the rodeo grounds, staring at each other, speechless. Security guys pushed the crowd back, giving us a small cocoon of privacy. Who was I kidding? With a bajillion digital cameras snapping away and every ear straining to eavesdrop, there was nothing private about it.
Maybe it was the panty incident. Or, maybe it was the fact that Junior had been gone for a year without a word of explanation. I guess the cause didn’t really matter, but suddenly, I was so mad I could spit.
I folded my arms and glared. “You’re a liar. You said you were driving your mother to Mexico and coming right back.”
Junior flashed his dimples and took my hand. I snatched it away.
He said, “Aw, come on, Allie, don’t be like that. You know I’m on TV . . . right?”
“Oh, yeah, I know you’re a big star now, so you were probably too busy to give your girlfriend a call. Maybe they don’t have phone service in Mexico.”
Junior reached out and wrapped his fingers around the moonstone. The scrape of his knuckles against my skin elicited an involuntary shiver. He smiled. “Last time I checked, you didn’t have a phone.”
At one time, Junior’s smile was a rare and beautiful thing. Now, it appeared effortlessly, as if he’d been practicing in the mirror. However, it still had the desired effect. I tried to stay mad, but my outrage was fading fast.
“I have a phone now, and besides, you could have called Mercedes or Kizzy or your sister, and left me a message.”
“You’re right. I’m so sorry. That’s why I’m here in person. I have something for you.”
He dropped the moonstone and cupped my face in his hands, caressing my cheeks with his thumbs. I’m embarrassed to say I just stood there, bewitched, while Junior poured on the charm. In my own defense, I wasn’t my usual spunky self due to my recent humiliation, panty-wise. I’d probably still be standing there, gazing at Junior like he was the snake charmer and I was the snake, if not for the ruckus that broke the spell.
A menacing male voice I knew well, snarled, “Get your hands off me!”
I pulled away from Junior and saw Beck Bradford in a tussle with two security guards. Beck’s paranormal powers don’t kick in until after dark, but even in full daylight, he was awesome, a force to be reckoned with. He shook off the guards and pushed his way through the crowd. The dark pools in his amber eyes were enlarged, a sure sign he was truly ticked off.
“It’s okay,” I told the security guys. “He’s with me.”
I held out my hand to Beck, blushing when I realized I’d totally put my current boyfriend on the back burner while Junior Martinez held me spellbound, as witnessed by the entire population of Peacock Flats. No wonder Beck was mad. Not to mention, I’d probably given Junior the impression I’d been sitting around waiting for him. Not true. Definitely not true. I snapped out of my Junior-induced trance and made the introductions. “Junior? This is Beck Bradford. He’s my . . . ”
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“Hey, Allie!” Somebody yelled. “Smile for the camera.”
“Boyfriend.” Beck supplied the missing word.
Junior’s smile vanished, and something dangerous flashed in his eyes. Though he’d left the gangbanging life behind, Junior still looked plenty scary.
“Boyfriend, huh?” he said, his lip curling in a sneer.
Beck and Junior stared at each other the way guys do, all bristled up, spoiling for a fight. I didn’t need to use the moonstone’s mind-reading powers to figure that out. I had to do something . . . TKP
would be good. How cool would it be to use telekinetic power to bang their stupid heads together?
No, too many witnesses. Weapon of choice had to be my mouth.
I dropped Beck’s hand and pointed at the four sexy babes in Junior’s entourage, who’d been watching our exchange with pouty lips and fire in their eyes.
“Wow, Junior, you’ve been a little busy yourself. Looks like you brought your harem along.”
Junior flushed and glanced over at the girls. “Yeah, well, they aren’t my girlfriends. They’re on the show, you know, and . . . ”
“Junior,” I said firmly. “In spite of what I said, I don’t care. You’ve been gone a year. I’ve moved on. So have you. Let it go.”
Junior thought about it for a while and then nodded, thrusting out a hand for Beck to shake. Their friendly handshake turned into an effort to crush each other’s bones.
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost sprained my eyelids. Boys are so lame.
One of the men dressed in a suit—later, I’d learn he was Junior’s manager—stepped into our inner circle.
“Time to go, Junior. You’re scheduled for an interview, and your fan club wants to meet you.”
Junior had a fan club?
“Okay, just give me a sec,” he said.
“So, this is what . . . a PR tour?” I asked, attempting to end our conversation on a civil note.
“That’s what it turned into,” he said with a grimace. “But you’ll find out the real reason when you go back home.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“Don’t want to spoil the surprise,” he said.
Ignoring Beck’s menacing glare, Junior leaned close and whispered, “You’re always in my heart, Allie. Never forget it.”
He stepped back. His “people” rushed in and swept him away, before I had a chance to say goodbye. I felt a little pang as I watched him leave, wondering if I’d ever see him again. 265
Chapter Three
After Junior left, Beck walked me back to the judges’ platform. We had the following conversation: Beck: “So that’s the famous Junior, huh?”
Me: “Yep.”
Beck: “You over him?”
Me: “Yep.”
Beck: “I knew that.”
Moment of silence while I thought, Yeah, right.
Beck (eyes flashing with interest): “I didn’t know you wore thong panties.”
Me: “I don’t.”
Beck: “Sure looked like it from where I sat.”
Me (sighing deeply): “Long story.”
Beck: “Can’t wait to hear it.”
Me: “Later.”
Beck grinned, and dropped a kiss on my cheek. A couple of guys in the bleachers hooted their approval. I’d see Beck after he spent time with his mother, Melissa. He’d been attendi
ng a college prep summer program in Seattle, and had driven back to Peacock Flats early today to catch my big debut. At least I’d made it worth his while.
Beck was such a brain, he’d qualified for an accelerated program last year, earning enough credits to graduate high school early. He would start his freshman year at the University of Washington in September. His twin, Nicole, was more interested in her social life than studying, and would be my classmate at J.J. Peacock H.S. for another year.
With one hand clutching my billowing skirt, I climbed the stairs to the judges’ stand. My official duties consisted of handing out ribbons, judging a watermelon-eating contest, and smiling until my jaw ached. It was hard, but I managed to be gracious and queen-like, even when people showed me the display on their phones and digital cameras featuring my display. One old boy had captured the moment with his camcorder. No doubt about it. I had the most famous fanny in the history of Peacock Flats.
By five o’clock, I was all smiled out. All I wanted to do was slink back to the trailer and change my clothes. I rode home with Faye, who chattered nervously as we drove down Peacock Flats Road. She talked about everything under the sun, except the one thing on both our minds: the Royal Panty Incident. Truth be told, I was way too tired to be mad. I finally realized she was waiting for me to bring it up. Okay, fine. Then we could wring its neck, and give it a decent burial. I groped around under my dress, hooked a finger under the little scrap of nylon making my life a living hell, and yanked. Faye glanced at me curiously, as I squirmed and wiggled my way to blissful freedom. Finally triumphant, I held the panties up, and opened the passenger side window. I grinned at Faye. “Say goodbye.”
I stretched the elastic waist band out as far as possible, and fired the panties like a slingshot into a field of corn.
Faye howled with laughter, and held out a hand for me to slap. After we exchanged high fives, Faye glanced over at me and winked. “We could have made a fortune on eBay.”
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I shook my head in mock regret. “Darn! I never thought of that.”
Faye said, “At least we have one thing to be grateful for.”
“Oh?”
“The giver of the panties wasn’t around to enjoy the show.”
“Good old Roy,” I said. “Not that he could have identified them, seeing as how they were pretty much outta sight by then.”
Faye snickered. “Yep, you really cracked up the crowd.”
I groaned at her lame humor.
She sobered quickly, and shook her head. “You were right about Roy. What an idiot.”
Since she’d discovered Roy had a couple of wives he hadn’t bothered to divorce, her opinion of his IQ had plummeted. I knew he was dumb as dirt all along. But, as always, Faye had to learn the hard way. My current goal in life was to figure out why Faye kept choosing the wrong guy, as well as making other decisions that made us both miserable.
Issue resolved, we rode together in companionable silence, rare for Faye and me, until we approached Uncle Sid and Aunt Sandra’s ranch. Our trailer was parked at the back of their property, behind their big house and next to the infamous electric fence where I’d had my first encounter with my destiny as a Star Seeker. The pasture behind the electric fence belonged to Blaster, Uncle Sid’s bull, whose sperm was worth a fortune. Blaster was crazy about Uncle Sid. Why wouldn’t he be?
When the time was right, Uncle Sid would back an air-conditioned trailer into the pasture and whistle until Blaster came running.
“Hey, buddy! Wanna go visit some ladies?”
The bull didn’t like me at all. Whenever I stepped outside the trailer, he’d paw the ground and bellow a warning. If I pretended not to see him, he’d give up and trot to the other end of the pasture. Guess he remembered the time I used TKP to make him trot backwards. When we got to the long gravel driveway leading to our trailer, it was blocked with cars. Not only was the driveway full, but a bunch of cars were parked on the narrow shoulder of Peacock Flats Road.
“Well, damn,” Faye said. “Looks like Sid and Sandra are having a party. Guess we’ll have to walk in.”
“Oh, great,” I said. “Just what I want to do in high heels, a big poufy dress and no underpants.”
Faye parked the truck behind a black Suburban with a What Would Jesus Do sticker on the back window and sighed. “Jesus would probably make the cars disappear so he could get down the driveway.”
She gave me a thoughtful look. I knew what was coming and shook my head violently. “No way!
I’m not using TKP to move those cars.”
Faye pretty much thought I should use my powers in ordinary circumstances, especially if it made her life easier. She shot me a disgusted look and stepped out of the truck. “Then you’d better get a tight grip on that poufy dress. The wind’s still blowing.”
Faye charged down the driveway like she was on a mission. Actually, she probably was. Happy hour had come and gone, and a six pack in the fridge was calling her name. I held onto my skirt with both hands, and hobbled along in three-inch heels not designed for walking in gravel. I had just stepped onto the grass, and slipped off my shoes when two boys tore around the corner of the house. The boy in the lead held a bag of potato chips over his head, just out of reach of the smaller boy, who bared his teeth and snarled before launching himself at the big kid’s ankles. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs and flailing fists, potato chips flying everywhere. Geez, would this day never end?
“Hey, you guys, knock it off!” I yelled.
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I was about to wade in and grab the little one, when he jumped up and glared at the big kid, “You ain’t so tough, you butt wipe, you ass . . . ”
“Hey!” I yelled again. “Watch your language.”
He took off running. Butt Wipe stood and glared at me—like I had something to do with it—
before slinking off to lick his wounds. As I rounded the corner of the house, a crow fluttered down from the roof and started pecking at the potato chips.
Uncle Sid’s back yard was jammed with people. I spotted Mayor Mort, Principal Hostettler and other members of the festival committee along with their families, most of them gathered around the long table loaded down with fresh roasted corn, salads, casseroles and desserts. Aunt Sandra stood on the brick patio with her best buds, church ladies who met once a week to gossip. When she saw me, she lifted a hand to shield her mouth, and said something to Cynthia Badgley, a case worker for Child Protective Services, the very woman who had once threatened to put me in foster care. My cousin Tiffany, still wearing her cherry red gown and tiara, was next to the food table, stuffing her face with chips and dip.
As I trudged toward the trailer, I breathed in the tantalizing fragrance of grilled meat floating on the soft evening air. My stomach growled angrily, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I waved at Uncle Sid, who hovered over the barbeque. His lime green apron said, Don’t Expect Miracles. He looked like a man trapped in a nightmare. His lips were drawn back in a frozen grimace of a smile, and he gazed longingly at the barn behind our trailer.
Uncle Sid is not a people person. He’s happiest when he’s alone, working in the barn, or scratching stinky old Blaster behind the ears. He glanced over to make sure Aunt Sandra wasn’t looking, before he returned my wave.
A couple of people called out to me. “Hey, Queen Allie, come join the party!”
“Yeah, Allie should be here. Right, Mom?”
The last comment came from Matt, Sid and Sandra’s eighteen-year-old son, who stood, framed in the doorway leading to the back of their house. I’d once had a thing for Matt, but that was ancient history. Now, strangely enough, he had a thing for me. I was suddenly aware of my bare-booty commando state, and felt my face heat up.
Before Aunt Sandra could answer, Tiffany yelled, “Hey! Queen Bare Buns! Wanna join the party?
Not!”
Aunt Sandra smirked, before she rearranged her face in a frown of disapproval. Uncle Sid shook his head, sadly.
The crowd stood silently, heads swiveling back and forth between Tiffany and me. I heard my heart thumping against my ribs, Blaster’s distant bellow, and the flapping of wings as the crow abandoned his chips and perched on the edge of the roof.
My feet hurt. I was tired, hungry and totally sick of comments about my undergarments or lack thereof. Most of all, I was fed up with Tiffany. I took five steps toward her, and stopped. We locked gazes.
It was time for payback.
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Chapter Four
As a practitioner of magic, I’m what you might call a loose cannon. Since acquiring the gift of manipulating objects with my mind, I’d been working at it like my life depended on it. Actually, it did. I’d mastered the slow roll, the full throttle and the hovering–in–air–before–crashing–to-earth mode. What I hadn’t managed to fine-tune, was control.
My point? I didn’t want to permanently damage Tiffany, I just wanted to embarrass her and teach her a lesson. As the plan came together, I had to consider the following: Whatever happened had to look natural. It would be a giant mistake to blow my cover in front of Mayor Mort and friends. They’d probably condemn me as a witch and burn me at the stake or, at the very least, hitch up our trailer and dump us off at the top of Rattlesnake Ridge.
I gave Tiffany a friendly grin, gratified when I saw her eyes widen in alarm. I said, “Ya know, Tif, stuff happens, and sometimes it’s out of your control, so it’s best to just roll with it.”
As I took a deep breath and blew it out, the thrum of pure energy coursed through my body, gathering speed and heat. Maybe the word butt wipe was still resonating in my subconscious. Or, maybe I had a teensy mean streak just dying to come out. Whatever the reason, I focused hard, and when I felt my power swell, I nudged the crow from his perch on the roof. With a hoarse squawk, the bird flapped his wings, gained a little altitude and circled the back yard. Am I powerful enough to make a bird poop on command? Absolutely not! But I was strong enough to make him swoop low over Tiffany, who was still standing over the food table. Both Tiffany and the crow had a belly full of potato chips. I figured it was only a matter of time before the crow dropped his load. After all, he was a bird.
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