by JK Cooper
Kale took a couple steps back, squaring himself with the study’s entry, and felt his upper lip raise in confusion. “What business plan?”
“Deshawn asked if I would look over his numbers and projections,” Elias explained. “I must say,” he said, turning his head to Bubba and tapping one of the pages on the desk with a finger, “I’m fairly impressed.”
Kale walked up to the desk, and saw one stack of papers titled “Executive Summary,” and several spreadsheets arrayed across the desk, complete with graphs and charts. “What is all this?” He asked.
“What’s it look like?” Bubba asked. “I’m getting ready to launch a business based on Momma’s chicken recipe. Even got a sample menu.” Bubba held up a laminated menu, complete with graphic design, a logo, and prices.
Kale took the menu. “Man, Bubba, this is . . .”
“Shocking? What, you thought I was just your token fat black friend around for comic relief?”
“I was going to agree with Dad and say impressive.”
“Check out my retained earnings projections at year five,” Bubba said, pointing to a spreadsheet.
“I do think those are a little aggressive, Deshawn,” Elias said. “I think you need to adjust things based on a variable cost model. Costs don’t stay fixed.”
“So, like, what . . . three percent a year?”
“For your lease payment, that’s probably good, but—”
Bubba shook his head and his torso jiggled a bit under his shirt. “Nah, Mr. C., I’m going to own the real estate. See, people think this is a business about chicken. But it’s really about the real estate.”
Elias smiled. “You read Ray Kroc’s book?”
“Who?”
“The founder of McDonald’s,” Kale said absently, still focusing on the menu. “When did you do all this?”
“Over the past year or so. You know you were just our guinea pig, testing out different recipes, right?”
Kale smiled awkwardly. “I’ve been thinking about how to franchise your mom’s recipe. I had no idea you . . .” Kale trailed off. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the logo at the top of the menu. “SuperFly Chicken?”
“That means “the best chicken” for the white folks in the room.”
Elias chuckled and Kale shook his head. “Yeah, I know,” Kale said. “It’s . . . not the right name.”
“What do you mean?”
“You gotta go with ‘Bubba’s Chicken,’” Kale said. “That’s what I always thought it would be called.”
Bubba crossed his arms over his chest. “You mean, when you were thinking of my business, you also thought you’d be kind enough to name it for me?”
“I . . . um . . .”
“Yeah, go ahead and think about that for a bit. Epic friend fail, right there.”
“Regardless of the name, Deshawn,” Elias said. “I think you’ve got something promising here. You should think about taking Mr. Goff’s business class this year.”
“I tested out of it last year, Mr. C. Got bored in the first week, feel?”
“I didn’t know that,” Kale said. “I’m taking it this year. I heard it can be brutal.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
“Right, like why you let Jarvis get by you sometimes at practice.” Kale put the menu back on the desk.
“Ain’t no one get past me if I don’t want them to.” Bubba gave Kale a meaningful look.
Elias gathered up the papers. “When you’re ready to look for funding, come talk to me again. I can probably point you in the right direction.”
“No offense, Mr. C., but I won’t take your money. Gotta earn my own way, know what I’m saying?”
Elias smiled. “I do. Now, Kale, unless you want to do more pom-pom push-ups, you boys better get going.”
Bubba chuckled. “That was something.”
Kale groaned. “Does everyone know about that?”
“Kale!” he heard his mother call from the kitchen. “You’re going to be late and have to do more—”
“Yeah, I know,” he called back, craning his head into the hallway. He looked at Bubba. “Alright, let’s go. But, I’m telling you, ‘Bubba’s Chicken’ is the right name.”
“Mm hmm. Got my life all planned, huh?”
Kale just laughed. “C’mon, let’s go.”
They walked toward the front door. “Thanks, Mr. C.!” Bubba called over his shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered to Kale, “you seeing your minx later?”
“Shelby? Yeah, why?”
“I heard she and Sadie are all like best friends and stuff all of a sudden.”
“Sadie has dozens of best friends,” Kale said.
“ Yeah, well,” Bubba said, rubbing his jaw, “think Shelby could put a good word in for me with Sadie?”
Kale coughed. “That is something that’s not going to happen.”
“Man, why’s everyone so cold?”
“Trust me, bro,” Kale said, slapping Bubba on the shoulder as the front door closed behind them, “Sadie’s just . . . not right for you.”
Shelby changed into her leo next to Sadie in the locker room. Over the past week, Shelby had been doing her best to avoid Chelsea and her disciples, since Kale had asked her to homecoming. But, of course, with Chelsea being the captain of the gymnastics team, that proved impossible. The texts the banshee—a most apropos description, Shelby had decided—sent her unrelentingly were enough to make anyone hire a personal bodyguard. Where did Chelsea come up with such colorful metaphors, describing what she was going to do to Shelby? So far, though, besides laying out the tire spikes, Chelsea had been all bark and no bite.
Shelby’s text alert chimed.
“Chelsea again?” Sadie asked.
“No, Trish,” Shelby answered through a sigh.
“Same difference. What’s it say?”
Shelby gave the phone to Sadie and slammed her locker shut. “I still don’t know how they got my number.”
Sadie read the text and raised an eyebrow. “She’s threatening to shun you on Instagram and Snapchat unless you tell Kale to take Chelsea to homecoming. That’s it? Really? Is she Amish or something? Un-copulating-believable. Wait, do Amish people have Snapchat?”
“I guess some people actually think social media matters that much,” Shelby said. “Come on, we’re going to be late, and I don’t want to do more push-ups with a smile plastered to my face. Hey! What are you doing?”
Sadie pulled away, holding Shelby’s phone up high while working her thumbs furiously. “Nothing.”
“Sadie!”
“I’m just helping you out, girl.”
“Give it back!”
“Nope.”
Shelby reached around Sadie, trying to pry the phone from Sadie’s grip and nearly tripped over the bench that split the row of lockers.
“Condemn it, I’m almost done!” Sadie grunted, fighting Shelby’s grip. “Anyone ever tell you you’re deceptively strong?”
Sadie let go. Shelby stared in horror at her Instagram account. A meme of Trish in her leotard with a white beard, black hat, and a long white unbuttoned cotton shirt—stereotypical Amish garb—glared back at her. The caption read, “Shunning Shelby Brooks since 2016.” Shelby’s—Sadie’s—comment below the picture read, “How’d I get so lucky?” followed by three cry-laughing emojis.
“That doesn’t sound like something I would post,” Shelby said.
“You’re welcome. Twitter and Facebook, too.”
“I hate you.”
Sadie closed her locker. “No, you don’t.”
“You know this could count as cyberbullying, right?”
“She’s the one that sent you that feculence about shunning you.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “I don’t really care about that small stuff. I should just get a flip phone.”
“So, the pack meeting is tonight, huh?” Sadie asked. “Excited?”
Shelby groaned. “I guess.”
“Got your Cub
Scout uniform all picked out and ironed?”
Shelby pursed her lips. “What?”
“Ya know. Pack meeting? What my nerd brother goes to? He’s ten now and the proud rank of Wolf Cub.” Sadie waggled her eyebrows. “Get it? Wolf Cub?”
“You’re not serious,” Shelby said.
“Better believe it. You don’t have any brothers. I forgot. He’s got the neckerchief and everything. You can borrow it for tonight if you want.”
Shelby crossed her arms. “Let me guess, Mrs. Copeland is the ‘den mother.’ And wolf cubs are eight, by the way.”
Sadie laughed. “So you do know about Cub Scouts! I hadn’t thought about a den mother. Awesome. And, yeah, I know wolf cubs are normally eight but my brother’s a slacker.
“But you should be excited. Another excuse to see Kale, right? As if seeing each other all day every day for the past week hasn’t been enough. The way you two gawk at each other. Seriously.” Sadie mimed throwing up.
“He’s at least starting to listen to some decent music. Gotta train them early.”
“He’s placating you. Trust me. You know he still bumps Beyoncé when you’re not around, right? As scarce as those times are.”
Shelby shrugged. “Small progress is still progress. Not like I own him.”
“Uh, ya, you kinda do.”
“Don’t start on the bonding thing again,” Shelby mumbled.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sadie asked.
“I don’t know. I just . . .”
“You can’t tell me you don’t like him anymore. Moving on that fast?”
Shelby’s heart skipped a beat. “No. No, of course I . . . like him.” Such an incomplete description, so lacking. Like him? Shelby was head-over-heels for Kale Copeland, so far beyond “liking” him. But still . . .
“I kissed him at the bonfire—”
“Yeah, we all saw that lovely showing of PDA.”
“What?”
“Public display of affection?” Sadie said. “Holy Hades, girl, you better be careful when school starts next week. They’ll suspend you for that stuff, even though the whorey trinity seems to get away with it just fine.”
“I haven’t kissed him since.”
Sadie lowered her chin. “Because . . .”
Shelby had wondered the same thing. What did that mean? Shouldn’t she be having the opposite problem, of not being able to keep her hands off him? But, Kale also seemed hesitant . . . not to be around her—she could tell he wanted to be with her as much as she did him—but to kiss again.
“I think I’m scared.”
Sadie sat on the bench. They were definitely late now. Push-ups-with-a-smile it would be.
“Sit,” Sadie said.
“We’re late.”
“Condemn it, Shel, sit.”
Shelby sat.
“Look, I don’t know what happened before you got here, but something did. Every time a group of guys passes us, you shrink away. I mean, your face turns pale. Except for Kale, of course.”
“And Bubba,” Shelby said.
“Bubba Tubba doesn’t count.”
“He makes me laugh.”
Sadie scrunched her face up and sighed through her nose. “I guess he’s good for something occasionally. So, what happened?”
What happened? How could she even begin to explain?
“Oh, don’t you look at me like I wouldn’t understand,” Sadie said.
So, Shelby told her. Everything. Lucas. His friends. Her first shifting and not being able to shift since. Her shame. By the end of it, Sadie’s eyes glistened, not with pity but anger. Shelby could tell from the amber flecks that glowed in her irises.
“Want me to kill him?” Sadie said. “I so will.”
Shelby actually laughed, a pitiful choked sound.
“So,” Sadie went on, “this is why you’re scared to kiss Kale again? I mean, if you need a proxy to stand in with Kale . . .”
Shelby laughed again. It felt good. “Actually, no, it’s not why.” Shelby paused. Was it? “When Kale and I kissed, I felt things. Sensed things.”
“His tongue?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Uh-huh. Go on.”
“You talked about this bonding thing. Explain it to me.”
Sadie brought a knee up to her chest. “You know I was kidding about you guys, right? I mean, bonding is a real thing for us, but it’s really rare, and I don’t know much about it. I’m seventeen, remember? And how have we not discussed this over the past week? I only come over to see your dad every night.”
Shelby gasped. “No! You’re only pretending to be there to see me?”
“Well, can’t a girl have more than one purpose?”
“I guess I’ve just had a hard time making these feelings fit inside me. Like, finding the right place for them. It makes it hard to talk about. Something . . . changed when we kissed.” How could she explain this without sounding like a complete dork?
“Haven’t we been over this?” Sadie asked. “Romance-novelitis?”
Shelby ignored her friend’s comment. “I saw him.”
“You didn’t close your eyes? You really are a strange chick.”
“It felt . . . it felt like our past or something. Like we had met before. Like, we were before. I mostly just feel things but Kale says he sees things when we kiss or sometimes when he’s just around me.”
“Yeah, he’s imagining you naked.”
Shelby put her head in her hands. “I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s like I feel that we’ve had a past together and he sees it.”
“Wait, you don’t ‘see’ what Kale sees when you kiss?”
“Not exactly.”
“That’s sexist.”
Shelby looked up. “What?”
“The universe is sexist. Why does the guy get to see copulating visions of your past but not you?”
“We’re not making love in his visions, Sadie.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t take my literal swearing literally. And why not?”
Shelby felt the heat of her blushing cheeks. “From what he says, it’s not a good thing. He’s scared in the visions. There’s fire and smoke and a village with scared people.”
Sadie lowered her chin to her chest. “I knew it. You’re both getting high when you make out.”
“No, we’re not. And we haven’t made out. It was just that one kiss.”
“Chill out, girl. I know you’re not doing drugs. What would be the point?”
“Huh?”
“Seriously? You don’t know?”
Shelby shook her head. “Know what?”
“Drugs don’t affect us. Well, barely, anyway. At a party last year, I downed a twelve pack of Budweiser before I felt the slightest tingle in my fingers.”
“You drank a twelve pack?”
“Oh ya. Shotgunned that crap.” Sadie mimed opening a beer can over her mouth, then made guzzling sounds.
“You’re insane. A twelve pack?”
Sadie made an indignant face. “Don’t try to tell me you’ve never drank.”
“Nope. Never.”
“Not even a small sip? Once?”
“Nope. It smells like carbonated urine. Why would I want to drink it?”
Sadie’s eyes looked up as if in thought. “Yeah, it kinda does. Condemn it. Thanks for ruining that for me.”
Through the door that led from the locker room to the gymnasium, Shelby heard Coach Anders’s muffled voice as he bellowed at someone to point their toes.
“So, Mrs. Copeland said something about a Summer Omega at dinner last week.”
Sadie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, she’s full of those legends. I think she really believes them.”
“She thinks I’m an Omega. Actually, I think I am, too. And I did manifest late.”
“Maybe you just hit puberty last year?” Sadie asked. “Were your boobs just ant bites before last year?”
“Sadie!”
“Just theorizing. Don’t get your
pantyhose in a pretzel.”
“Anyway, back to me and Kale. It scared me. The kiss, I mean. It was totally amazing to kiss him, but . . . this was more than a kiss. It was like a portal opened.”
“Let me guess. A portal to your heart?”
“I didn’t say that.
“Well, holy dung, Shelby, it’s not like you’re hard to read.”
Shelby sighed. “Maybe you were right, Sadie. Maybe this is like being bonded or whatever.”
Someone burst into the locker room from the gymnasium. The door slammed against the wall, and it echoed with indignation.
“Here it comes,” Sadie whispered.
“What?”
The clopping footsteps made Shelby think whoever was stomping their way had platypus feet. They stopped at their aisle of lockers. Shelby blew out a pent-up breath through pursed lips.
“There you little tramps are!”
Chelsea Gittrik. Perfect. Her sweaty hair was all in a bun. Somehow, her makeup still held its place. And now that Shelby looked, Chelsea did have very flat feet.
Sadie stood and folded her arms. “Thought you were shunning us.”
Trish and Amanda came storming up behind Chelsea, also in their leos. Trish’s face flushed with embarrassment or rage, Shelby couldn’t tell. Likely both.
“Oh, look, the whole whorey trinity is here. How sweet,” Sadie said with the most syrupy voice she could manage.
“What. Is. This?” Chelsea hissed, holding up her phone. The Amish meme of Trish blared in all its political incorrectness. That was fast.
Shelby stood and decided it was better to defuse the situation. “Trish, I’m sorry, it was just a bit of fun. Thought you would laugh a little.”
Trish’s eyes widened and her mouth opened in what could only be disbelief. Chelsea’s eyes, however, seemed to darken. “My dad is going to see the principal about this! You could get expelled for it. It’s still bullying. Trish is very hurt.”
Trish blinked twice, appearing lost, then caught herself and buried her head into Amanda’s shoulder. Amanda, on cue, softly rubbed Trish’s back.
“You see?” Chelsea almost barked. “She’s crushed. Well done, tramps.”
“Ohhhh,” Sadie mocked, “daddy’s going to make it all better, is he? Well, I bet Shelby’s dad can beat up your dad. Oh, and he’s hotter, too.”
“Sadie!” Shelby said from the side of her mouth.
