Eye Sore

by Melanie Jackson

  It was her cousin, Brody. My enemy.

  But he didn’t look like an enemy now. He was smiling.

  “Hey, buddy! Time we had a talk. Smoothed things over.”

  Chapter Seven

  A Keeping You Safe Security van pulled up behind Brody. A security guard got out.

  I let him in the gate. I let Brody in too. I didn’t see what damage he could do. He was wearing a knapsack, but it was pretty flat. As in, no paint-can shapes bulging out. Besides, I doubted he’d want to mess with the Keeping You Safe guy. The guard was even bigger than Brody, and he was beefy and mean-looking.

  I had another reason for letting Brody in. Dad wanted me to get along with him. Maybe Brody really did want to smooth things over.

  I still thought he was the one who’d thrown paint over the Eye. But, like Dad said, I had no proof.

  I tried to make my voice friendly. I told Brody, “Yeah, we should talk. But first I have to show the guard around.”

  He beamed. “Sure. I’ll wait.”

  His pleasure seemed real. Had I misjudged the guy?

  Brody wandered off.

  I took the guard into the office. On the desk, Dad had left a printout with info for him. As the guard read, I kept glancing out the window. The suspicious part of me—in other words, 98 percent—thought Brody might use the opportunity to vandalize the Eye again. Hurl rocks at the gondola windows, say.

  But Brody wasn’t around the Eye.

  Maybe he’d got tired of waiting and left. I went outside. I called his name.

  “Over here, buddy!”

  I found him in the woods. He was holding his phone.

  “Love nature,” he explained. He leaned back, aimed his phone high and snapped.

  He’d caught a shot of fir branches against blue sky. Didn’t seem that exciting a shot to me. The branches would come out dark.

  This was the second time I’d found someone taking photos in these woods. First the gray-haired man outside the fence, now Brody inside. I wondered what was so appealing about the place. Especially since the man and Brody had aimed their cameras upward. You could do that anywhere.

  Brody stuck his hand out. “Sorry about yesterday. About insulting you. The dancing, I mean. I think it’s great that your dad lets you…”

  He paused and reddened. “I got carried away. You know, the crowd, the excitement.”

  I didn’t know, no. But he could be telling the truth.

  “Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure I meant it. I shook his hand anyway. It was what Dad wanted.

  Brody kept standing there with that goofy grin I knew from school. I wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe, now that we were buddies, I was supposed to offer him a free spin on the Eye. Or shoot a few baskets with him.

  “Uh…I have plans for tonight,” I said. And I did. I was going to head over to the community center. Practice some steps in the studio.

  “Yeah, I got plans too. A lesson across town,” said Brody. He stuffed his phone into a pocket. “Basketball,” he added quickly. “As opposed to sewing, say.” He forced a laugh.

  I stared at him. Brody being friendly was weirder than Brody being a bully.

  I walked him to the gate. In his knapsack, something clanked like spoons.

  He said, “So drop by sometime, huh?”

  Dad came back to the Eye after his meeting. He wore a wide, happy grin.

  “The meeting went great—thanks to you! Sure, a few people brought protest signs. But most said how entertaining you were on the news. First, dance-kicking sand into young Brody’s face. Second, your on-the-floor routine on the gondola.”

  Startled, pleased, I took a deep breath. “That wasn’t a routine, Dad. I have—”

  “Now everyone wants to ride the Eye with their noses pressed to the floor.” Dad laughed and shook his head. “I owe you an apology, son. I’ve been closed-minded. You are one creative performer. And funny! From now on, I’m going to encourage you.

  “And hey, as our profits build, we should think about commercials—starring you, high up on the Eye. Real Eye-catchers,” he joked.

  “They’d be that,” I said.

  Dad was too excited to notice the uneasy note in my voice. “Jonas Bilk showed up. I invited him to speak, but he just thanked me for holding the meeting. I guess he saw how things were and gave up trying to make trouble.”

  I told Dad about Brody coming by and about us smoothing things over, at Brody’s suggestion.

  He nodded, pleased. “That can’t have been easy for you, son. I know how you feel about Brody.”

  Dad said he’d meet me at home after my studio practice. We’d order Chinese.

  I jogged down the hill toward the community center. As I ran, I felt the tension slipping off me like water. My steps grew lighter, my breathing easier. Dad was pleased with me.

  And Jonas would leave Dad alone now. He’d move on to something else.

  But I couldn’t shake off Brody’s words. Smoothing things over. I remembered his fury at the Eye fence the day before. And later that night at his house.

  It was hard to believe the same guy had showed up tonight at the Eye, beaming with goodwill and inviting me to drop by sometime.

  I slowed my steps and grinned. Maybe I wouldn’t go to the community center just yet. Maybe I’d head over to the Bilks’. Specifically, to Lauren Bilk.

  I’d been thinking about Lauren a lot. Wishing we could have a second meeting. A normal meeting this time, one that didn’t involve me with my arm in a planter. Or Brody yelling.

  I also wanted to find out what was behind Brody’s weird change in mood. Had he been sincere? Lauren might be able to help me figure that out.

  So I was going to take Brody up on his invitation. I was going to drop by.

  Especially since I knew he wasn’t home right now.

  Two women stood at the end of the Bilks’ drive. They were frowning up at the house.

  “It’s a disgrace,” said one of the women. “Jonas complains about a Ferris wheel ruining the neighborhood. Meanwhile, he has someone in there screaming.”

  “Last night the screams ruined my dinner,” her friend said.

  I paused, listening. So I’d been right! Somebody at the Bilks’ was in trouble. Brody had lied about the cry for help coming from the TV.

  The first woman sniffed. “If you ask me, they’ve got an exotic pet in there. One they’re not supposed to have. That’s what’s making those noises. I’m guessing an orangutan.”

  The women barely glanced at me as I passed. “I bet it’s a wild parrot,” said the second woman.

  I sprinted up to the Bilks’ front door. I was about to ring the bell.

  A man’s loud voice from inside stopped me.

  “You say one word to anyone and I’ll send you packing!”

  The next voice was a female one, softer, not yelling. I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Whatever it was, she didn’t get to say much of it. The man cut in.

  “Every family has its secrets. Keep ours quiet, missy. Or I’ll throw you out, niece or not!”

  That had to be Jonas Bilk. And he was threatening Lauren.

  The two women were wrong. The screamer from upstairs wasn’t an exotic pet. It was a person. I’d heard her beg for help.

  I figured it was someone Jonas had gotten mad at. Had beaten up, maybe. He was like Brody—tall, big-shouldered. Someone smaller wouldn’t have a chance against him.

  I couldn’t let him beat up Lauren. I had to get in there.

  Chapter Eight

  I wrenched at the doorknob. I’d ram the door open if necessary. Or kick it in. I’d been practicing horizontal dance kicks against the trunk of the maple tree at home.

  But the door wasn’t locked, and I shoved it too hard. I skidded onto the smooth marble floor and lost my balance. I fell backward, my legs sticking up like antenna.

  So much for being a suave rescuer.

  The foyer was dim. After the bright sun, I couldn’t see right away. “Lauren!” I yelled.
>
  I got up. I saw her—and Jonas.

  They were by the painting of the woman holding the white flower. In the shadowy foyer, the flower had a supernatural glow.

  They gaped at me. Jonas opened his mouth. I braced myself to be yelled at.

  Instead, tightening his face muscles, Jonas got control of himself. It was obviously a huge effort for him. It almost hurt to watch.

  “Got stuff to do,” he muttered, and he shuffled into the room behind him.

  The room was an office. A computer sat on a gleaming mahogany desk. Papers were stacked to one side.

  It was a very tidy desk—the desk of a control freak. No wonder Jonas was angry at Lauren. Having someone blab family secrets would be too untidy for him.

  Jonas sat down at the desk. He reached for the phone.

  In a low voice I told Lauren, “You’re not safe here. I have an aunt you can stay with. The nice thing about Aunt Mary’s house is that it’s scream-free. No one’s being tortured.”

  Lauren broke into a nervous giggle. “You have the wrong idea, Chaz. No one’s being tortured. It’s just—”

  She hesitated. “Uncle Jonas is angry at me because I want to tell the neighbors the truth. They hear the screams. They’re upset.”

  “Okay, so no one is being tortured. Then why the screaming? Does somebody upstairs have a weird medical condition? I’ve heard of people who can’t stop swearing. But screaming?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Chaz. It’s not a medical condition. I can’t say any more than that.”

  I glanced up at the portrait of the woman with the white flower. The first time I saw the painting, I’d thought how pretty the woman was—like Lauren. Now I noticed the dark trees around her. Dark, like the family secret. They made the painting kind of ominous.

  Lauren followed my glance. “That was my great-grandmother. She grew up in this house. It must have been fun for her. Not many people lived around here then. She had the forest pretty much to herself.”

  In the next room, Jonas barked into the phone, “You got photos. You got your sample. Now let’s talk money.”

  Lauren whispered, “Uncle Jonas isn’t as mean as he seems, Chaz. He’s just kind of uptight. He’s having problems with the North Van Express. Like a lot of newspapers these days, it’s losing money.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Jonas was saying impatiently. “But I can’t move forward till I have a guarantee from you, Hans. A written one.”

  As he talked, Jonas flipped a pencil around in his fingers. Then he paused, gripped the pencil hard and snapped it in two.

  Kind of uptight. Right.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said abruptly. “We can grab a soda at the community center. I’ll do some dance steps for you.”

  Away from the house, Lauren grew more relaxed. She teased me about my first appearance at the Bilks’. “Cramming your arm into a pot of soil. What dance move would that be?”

  In the dance studio, she sat down on a bench. I dragged a stepladder over. Then I got some mats from the studio shelves and piled them behind the stepladder.

  I got my tap shoes out of my locker. “I’ll show you the routine I’ve been practicing,” I told Lauren. “It’s very formal. The important thing for me is to stay dignified. Dignity, always dignity.”

  I did a few whirls around the floor as a warm-up. Then I tap-danced backward onto the first stair of the stepladder. I danced on and off the step several times.

  She was smiling. That energized me. That put music into my head. I danced up to the second stair and down again. I repeated that. Then I tap-danced backward up to the third step. I repeated that too.

  Then I tap-danced backward up to the fourth step.

  Except that there was no fourth step. My feet met air.

  Lauren shrieked. She stood up. But there was nothing she could do. It was too late.

  I dropped my mouth into a wide, horrified O. I flailed my arms. I fell on the mats. I kicked my legs straight up.

  And spun into a backward somersault.

  I jumped into standing position on the floor behind the mats and took a deep bow.

  It was Lauren’s turn to gape. Then, relaxing, she laughed and clapped. “You had the whole thing planned!”

  I nodded, pleased. “I based it on a Gene Kelly routine. I even used one of his lines—Dignity. Always dignity. Of course, he meant just the opposite. He believed that people should have fun watching dancers. Dance doesn’t have to be serious all the time.”

  “Neither does life. Tell that to my uncle though.” Lauren sighed.

  I wanted to ask her about that. Then Gene Kelly’s voice sang out “Gotta dance!”

  It was my ringtone. I pulled the phone from my jeans pocket.

  Dad said, “Son, I’m at the Eye. Someone just tried to break in. The guard chased him away.”

  Dad sounded more tired than I’d ever heard him. I didn’t get it. We had a guard now. He’d done his job.

  “So that’s good, isn’t it?” I asked.

  There was a pause. Dad inhaled loudly. “The intruder used steel cutters to chop two massive holes in the fence. That means a security guard isn’t enough. I’m going to have to invest in video surveillance.”

  I heard something else in his voice, and it scared me. Dad didn’t just sound tired. He sounded hopeless. Defeated.

  As his next words proved.

  “I don’t know if I can afford to go on with the Eye, Chaz. Not when someone wants me out of here so bad. It may be too much for me.”

  Chapter Nine

  I told Lauren curtly, “I have to go see Dad. I’ll walk you home. Just give me a minute.”

  I went out to the hall. I dropped coins into a drink machine. I pressed the soda selection button. The soda can started to fall—then stuck.

  Like I’d actually expected something to go right.

  I slammed the side of the machine. The machine shook, but the soda can stayed put.

  Lauren joined me. “I heard some crashing noises,” she said.

  She pressed hard on the soda selection button. The can clanked to the bottom. She handed it to me.

  I popped the tab, let her have the first swig, then downed the rest myself. I told her what had happened.

  “Now I want the Eye to stay open,” I finished. “Sure, Dad closing it would mean I could go to dance camp. But I don’t care. I can’t stand how hopeless Dad sounded. That isn’t Dad. Not my dad.”

  I crumpled the can in my fist.

  Lauren blurted, “I’m so sorry about all that’s happened. I hate that Uncle Jonas wrote that stupid story. I’m embarrassed someone in my family would behave like that.”

  I couldn’t trust myself to make any comments about Jonas Bilk. I lobbed the can into the recycle bin.

  She said, “Let me come with you to the Eye. You could use a friend right now.”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t feeling all that sociable. I turned and walked out of the community center. She followed.

  “It was a guy in a navy hoodie,” said the security guard. “Big, tall, broad-shouldered. I reached through the fence. I almost had him.”

  Two cops had arrived at the Eye. One was taking notes on what the guard said. The other was checking out the two jagged holes in the fence.

  Dad stood listening, face ashen, eyes dull.

  Lauren murmured to me, “I know you’re thinking the fence cutter was Brody. But it couldn’t have been. Brody has his weekly lesson. He never misses it.”

  “That will be easy for the cops to check on,” I said coldly.

  She drew back, and I knew I’d hurt her feelings. But I was too upset to care.

  I looked up at the Eye. It curved above the trees, bright and beautiful. I thought of all the work Moe, Dad and I had done to scrub off the black paint.

  I thought of all the money Dad had put into the Eye. All the dreams.

  And how, from the start, people had given him trouble over it. First Jonas, complaining about it in the North Vancouver Express. Then the p
aint vandal. Now a fence cutter.

  George Ferris had at least enjoyed success for a while. At the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair, his Ferris wheel grew so popular it was known as Queen of the Midway. Inspired, George had an idea to make it more magical at night. He strung up that new invention, light-bulbs, all around the wheel.

  After the world’s fair, George had the wheel moved to a different part of Chicago, then to St. Louis. People turned against him. They wouldn’t ride it. A wrecking company bought the wheel and dynamited it. The company sold the steel for scrap metal.

  George Ferris died poor and alone. He was buried without any kind of marker. Later, Ferris wheels and Eyes caught on big-time. Yet to this day no one knows where the man who invented them is buried.

  The thought shoved itself back into my brain. At least George enjoyed success for a while. That’s more than Dad’s had.

  Lauren slid her hand into mine. “I’m so sorry, Chaz. I’m keeping the family’s secret about the screaming. But I swear, if I thought they were involved in the problems with the Eye, I would tell. You have to believe me.”

  I looked at her. Her blue eyes were full of sympathy, nothing else. She wasn’t hiding anything. I believed her.

  I laced my fingers through hers. It was my way of telling her I was glad she’d come along. It wasn’t the kind of thing I could say. But I think she knew.

  In my dreams, I never had vertigo. I danced off the ground and into the air. I cartwheeled. I spun. I tap-danced on stars.

  That night my dream was different. Lauren was calling to me from Earth. I tried jumping down. But the air bounced me back up like an invisible trampoline.

  “Chaz!” she shouted. “I told you too much! Uncle Jonas is going to send me away!”

  “You didn’t tell me anything,” I called back.

  I jumped again. The air bounced me back. I punched it—pow-ditty-pow-pow!—like in my new routine. I kept punching, and slowly I pushed through, down to earth.

  Lauren came into view. She was in the woods, by the fence. She wasn’t yelling anymore. She was as still as a statue.