The Rise and Fall of Derek Cowell

by Valerie Sherrard

  Our munch-fest was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, followed by a burst of giggles and excited chatter. (I’ve learned this is some sort of mandatory thing Kim’s friends do when they come into the house, although it’s never actually related to anything funny or exciting.)

  A moment later we heard the bunch of them heading down the hall toward the kitchen. Steve raised an eyebrow, reached into the snack bowl and grabbed as many puffs as he could hold. Just in time too. In seconds, the kitchen was full of girls and a minute after that the cheese puff bowl held nothing but a sprinkling of orange dust.

  Being in the same room as Kim’s friends had a strange effect on Steve. For starters, he stopped slouching. That can be a sign of embarrassing things to come. I tried not to look.

  Turns out that wasn’t too hard, since Steffie chose that moment to smile at me and say, “Hey, Derek. What’s up?”

  That was new. Not that Steffie had never spoken to me before — she usually says, “Hi,” or gives me a friendly wave or something. But an actual question; I was not prepared for that.

  A string of babble lurched out of my mouth. As it echoed in my brain, it sounded something like, “Whar fretsal stuck merkin blurry smick smick plum.”

  There were a few actual words in there somewhere, but it’s anyone’s guess what they might have meant.

  To her credit, Steffie didn’t break and run. She stood there, with her smile a little frozen, nodding like she was encouraging a small child to perform some simple task.

  That was when I noticed a girl I’d never seen before. She had short, dirty-blonde hair that hung around her eyes in wild wisps. I’d have said she was cute, except she was smirking rudely. At me.

  She’d been standing slightly behind Steffie, but she moved forward to get a better look at the gibberish-spewing clown.

  “That was quite a sentence,” she said.

  Her comment got Steve’s attention. “It’s a secret language,” he said, smoothly.

  “Top secret,” I agreed. Except, Steve was busy introducing himself and getting her name, which was Riley, and I don’t think either one of them heard me.

  I switched my attention back to Steffie, but all we did was exchange awkward smiles. It was a relief when the girls decided to move along to some other part of the house.

  “Okay, well, see you later,” Steffie said.

  “You’re welcome,” I answered. (A bit of brilliance that played itself over and over in my head when I was trying to fall asleep that night.)

  Steve didn’t mention the gaffe, although he had to have heard it. He knows I have a thing for Steffie — not that I’ve ever said so. We prefer to let things like that hang in the air, unsaid. It’s the way of testosterone.

  He leaned forward once the girls had cleared out.

  “I’m pretty sure Riley is into me,” he said. Unlike me, Steve doesn’t struggle with confidence issues.

  “And I’m pretty sure you’re losing your grip on reality.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ll tell you what I didn’t lose my grip on,” he said, lifting his left hand from under the table. He was still holding the fistful of cheesy puffs, although I can’t say there was much puff left in them. Crushed or maybe melted, they looked disgusting. Steve shoved some into his mouth, chewed a bit and smiled. Not an appetizing sight.

  “Too bad Riley can’t see you now,” I said.

  Steve laughed. He finished the rest and went to the sink to wash his hands. The orange smudges he left on the towel suggested he hadn’t killed himself scrubbing. I grabbed the towel and took it down the hall to the laundry room hamper so Mom wouldn’t see it.

  Upstairs, I could hear voices raised over the music. I paused to listen for a few seconds, but it was all garbled.

  “She’ll probably be asking around about me,” Steve said as soon as I walked back into the kitchen.

  “Who?”

  “What do you mean, who? Who were we talking about?”

  “Right, sorry. Riley. So what, exactly, did you think she was going to be asking?”

  “You know, whether I’m available or whatever. She might even ask you.”

  “Yeah, that happens a lot. I’m getting sick of Kim’s friends asking about you.”

  He laughed. “They can’t help themselves.”

  “Some of them have managed to,” I said.

  “The sad thing is, there’s only one of me to go around,” Steve said.

  “A terrible loss for females everywhere.”

  “That’s true. But I noticed Steffie made a point of talking to you,” he said, suddenly serious.

  “She always says ‘hello’ or something. She’s just being polite.”

  “If you say so.”

  I can’t say I minded when a text alert cut that conversation off. Steve stood and dug his phone out of his pocket. He frowned as he read the message.

  “Oops,” he said. “I gotta go. I forgot Mom’s latest prospect is coming for supper.”

  “So why do you have to go home now?”

  “To clean my room. Mom doesn’t want the guy to know she’s raising a slob. Might scare him off.”

  “And yet, she’s letting him meet you. Strange.”

  “What’s strange is the idea that this guy would even see my room,” Steve said. “I pointed that out, but then Mom told me some weird story about having to move the couch in front of company once. Half the time I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about.”

  “Yeah, it’s the same with my mom.”

  I went with him to the door and stood there as he turned down the sidewalk toward his house. He might have more luck with girls than I do, but I wouldn’t trade places with him when it comes to family life. Even three annoying sisters weren’t so bad when I thought of how weird it would be if my mom was out there — dating. Gross.

  Steve seems to take it all in stride.

  I stepped back into the house and started up the stairs to my room. Giggles to my right drew my attention to the living room archway where the girls had now congregated. Steffie, Kim and a couple of others were just inside the arch, arms slung across each other’s backs. It looked like they were going to do some type of group thing — a cheer or dance or something.

  I paused on the fifth step and leaned forward. The way Steffie was smiling made my heart do something weird. It wasn’t until I heard Riley’s phone click that I realized they’d been standing there posing for a group selfie.

  I moved on feeling a bit cheated. But that was only because I had no idea what had just happened.

  If I’d known that, I would have been terrified.

  CHAPTER THREE

  For the record, I don’t usually look like a demented Disney character.

  It was Crystal Rutherford, a girl in my history class, who first texted me the picture. Within a few minutes, it arrived via three other people and after that it turned into a flood. Sometimes there was a message, or a caption, or even an emoticon or two with it, but the image never altered.

  There I was, Derek Alexander Cowell, hanging over the stair railing, gawking idiotically at the group of girls below. Their innocent smiles drew a sharp contrast to the slightly deranged face hovering above their heads.

  When the first shock wore off, a numb sort of dread descended on me. Just the thought of the reactions I’d have to face made me queasy. Anybody could see I was ogling one of the girls — heck, I was practically drooling. The only thing that wasn’t obvious was which lucky girl was the target of my yearning gaze.

  I could only hope that meant Steffie hadn’t felt the need to get a restraining order. Yet.

  Not once did it occur to me that anything good could come of this. Which made the reception I got at school the next morning quite a surprise. I used a back entrance and tried to slink unseen to my locker, but I was spotted going through the science depar
tment.

  “Derek, you dog!”

  I lifted my head to see who’d called my name. Kamau Rop. We have a couple of classes together and we’ve shot hoops a few times. He’s a good guy, so I hoped he’d go easy on me. I pasted a weak smile on my face, to show what a good sport I was.

  “Nice work!” He was grinning widely. “Those girls had no idea whatsoever.”

  I blinked. I also kept my mouth shut, since opening it could only have given away my confusion.

  By the time I’d been congratulated by four or five people, I’d clued in to what was happening. Everyone thought I’d done it on purpose. And in that light, my expression in the photo had taken on a completely different meaning. Instead of being a guy panting over someone he knows is out of his league, I was a performer, a jester, a stairway lurker, getting one over on my chosen prey.

  In an instant, I’d been transformed into a middle school photobomb celebrity. I was fist-bumped, high-fived and slapped on the shoulder. People who’d never spoken to me before came over to yuk it up.

  It was the first time in my history as a student at Breval Middle School that I wished the day would last longer. It flew by.

  It hadn’t occurred to me that the reaction to the picture would continue on outside of school and into my house. Actually, I’d assumed my sisters would make rude comments which I’d ignore and that would be the end of it. Wrong.

  Mom and Dad got home from work about the same time, like they do most days. Dad came in carrying a big bag of takeout from Have Happy, a local restaurant that offers a variety of Asian cuisine. The smell of the food trailed after him, making my mouth water as he headed toward the back of the house.

  Paige picked up the scent and dashed to the dining room to set the table. Within minutes we were all seated, poking into the cardboard boxes, scooping out our favorites from the assortment of foods. It was a nice mix, and I was concentrating on filling my plate when Kim spoke.

  “I hate to have to tell you what kind of son you’re raising,” she said, pausing for effect. “But Derek photobombed a picture of me and my friends yesterday.”

  Dad paused in the middle of spooning Pad Thai onto his plate. He frowned at me while Mom said, “What? Derek! You were raised better than that.”

  “Do you even know what a photobomb is?” I asked.

  “Well, it doesn’t sound very nice, whatever it is.”

  “He ruined the picture,” Kim said.

  “It’s sooo funny though,” Paige said. “It looks like he’s crushing their heads.”

  I looked across the table at her. Was there a second picture out there, somewhere? Or had I missed something?

  I slid my phone out of my pocket and swiped it to life under the table. There’s a dumb rule at our house about no phones at mealtime, but if you’re smooth you can get away with it.

  “Derek’s texting or something,” Kim said. I made a mental note to make sure she gets caught the next time she sneaks out after curfew.

  “Derek?” Dad gave me a stern look. He held his hand out and I passed my phone over.

  “I was just going to show you the picture, so you could see it’s no big deal,” I claimed.

  Dad passed the phone back saying, “I’d like to see it.”

  I tapped the picture up on the screen and took a quick look before I surrendered it again. Paige was right — I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed it before. Too focused on my goofy face, I guess.

  My hands were positioned on the stair railing in a way that looked exactly like the girls’ heads were being squeezed between them.

  Dad stared at the picture for a few seconds, shook his head the way he does when he can’t figure out why his kids are so strange, and handed it off to Mom.

  Mom took longer looking the picture over. Her eyebrows went up and she sighed a couple of times, but that was it. I could tell neither of my folks was going to take Kim’s side, no matter how upset she pretended to be.

  I was in the clear.

  And then Anna, who was the only one at the table who hadn’t yet seen it, asked if she could have a look. Mom gave her the phone and she spent a full minute or more studying the shot. A couple of times she enlarged parts of it.

  When she was finished, she leaned toward me.

  “Here you go, Derek,” she said sweetly.

  I reached across the table, met her eyes and felt my heart sink.

  The family blackmailer knew.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I couldn’t help wondering: why? Of all the people who’d seen the picture, why did Anna have to be the one who suspected there was more to it than an innocent photobomb?

  Okay, so, technically, Anna wasn’t the only person who read my expression correctly and knew I was looking mushy-faced-love-struck at one of the girls below. Steve got it the second he saw it. But Steve wasn’t about to blackmail me. If I knew my sister, this was going to be her biggest score ever. I spent some time trying to figure out what she’d ask for so I could be ready with some negotiating strategies, but she didn’t give any hints. Not right away.

  Anna wasn’t dumb. Chances were good she’d think it over, weigh her options and hit me with her demands when my defenses were at their lowest. Or on allowance day.

  But … if the right kind of distraction came along, she could forget all about the picture. My hopes for that happening skyrocketed the next morning when word got out that Luna Amatulli had been spotted in town.

  Yes. The Luna Amatulli, teen star of the wildly popular TV series, Palomino Gal.

  Luna comes to Breval for the weekend every now and then. She visits her grandparents and always keeps a seriously low profile. If she is spotted, the entire teenage population turns into a selfie-crazed mob.

  Okay, maybe not a mob. We don’t have enough teenagers to form a crowd that size. But there are quite a few of them out there skulking around, hoping to get a picture with Luna. Not with her and them — she makes it clear she’s not here to mingle. A selfie with Luna in the background is enough to be considered a score. Like I said, there’s not a lot going on in Breval.

  As for me, I’d rather be doing nothing than peeking around corners looking for some actress who wants to be left alone. I told that to Steve when he showed up at my place late Saturday morning, put on an innocent face and casually suggested we go for a walk.

  “Man, what is wrong with you?” he grumbled. “Have you seen how gorgeous this girl is?”

  “There are lots of gorgeous girls on the planet,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, but this one is right here, right now!” he said.

  “Don’t care,” I said. He shrugged.

  “Okay, so I’ll go myself,” he said.

  “See ya,” I told him and answered his shrug with one of my own.

  That’s when my mom came into the kitchen with Anna in tow.

  “Derek, I need you to take your sister to the drugstore.”

  “Do I have to go now?” I said. “Steve just got here.”

  Even as the words came out of my mouth I could practically feel Steve’s hands on my back, getting ready to shove me under the bus.

  “That’s okay, Derek,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll come with you guys.”

  The next thing I knew we were on our way to buy Bristol board for Anna. It wasn’t even for school either, just one of her lamebrain club ideas for kids who love cats or something. I wasn’t really listening as she explained it.

  We’d made the purchase and were about to leave when Anna let out a screech.

  “Oh, NO!”

  My razor-sharp reflexes made me take a stumbling jump backward, which knocked Steve into a stand of used books. He flailed and managed to catch it before it went crashing to the floor, but a bunch of paperbacks flew out. They landed on and around a customer we hadn’t noticed, since she was crouched down in the next aisle.

>   It was Luna Amatulli!

  She came storming out of hiding with her eyes blazing.

  “What’s wrong, little girl?” she asked Anna. “What did these awful boys do?”

  Anna blinked. She looked and me and Steve and then back at Luna.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Then why did you scream ‘Oh, NO!’” Luna pressed.

  “I forgot to get a black marker,” Anna said. “I’m making a poster.”

  “And we’re not awful,” Steve said.

  Luna ignored that. Her attention had moved to a pair of girls approaching the door. They hadn’t yet spotted Luna, whose face was transformed with panic.

  “Please!” she implored us. “Hide me!”

  We did. We formed a combination human/Bristol board shield while Anna launched into an insanely boring description of her plans for the poster.

  Fortunately, the girls found what they came in for, paid and left in a matter of minutes. If they noticed our odd group, oddly posed, they deliberately ignored us.

  Luna stood upright again once the coast was clear.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Sorry I called you awful.”

  “You’re probably thinking we’re more like heroes now, huh?” Steve said, grinning.

  But Luna had turned toward the cash register, manned by Mr. Holst, the store owner. “I’m going to go,” she said.

  Mr. Holst nodded. “You tell your grandpa I’ll be over to beat him at a game of checkers one of these days.”

  Luna gave him a smile and hurried to the back of the store and into a room marked “Employees Only.”

  “She uses the back door!” Steve said. “So no one sees her on the street.”

  “Don’t order a deerstalker cap just yet, Sherlock,” said Mr. Holst. Then he told Anna, “The markers are at the back of aisle three, Miss.”

  Anna got what she needed and we left. As we neared my house Steve finally stopped repeating things like, “Can you believe it!” and “We actually talked to her!”

  He stopped because his brain had moved on to the tragic part of our encounter.