“Are you going to talk to Victoria?” he asks.
“She moved out of her mom’s house.”
“Answer the question, Bella.”
“I’ve got to get to work.”
Luke laughs, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Call me if you need a ride—to find Victoria, that is.”
When I drive my Bug out to Dolly’s horse barn, there’s a man with a camera waiting. I ignore him and go find Clyde.
“You ready to muck out some more stalls?” He pats down an auburn-colored horse.
I’d rather eat my own socks. “Um . . .”
His laugh rumbles. “Relax, kid. Today I’m going to show you how to groom a horse.”
“Like do hair?”
He doesn’t smile. “Follow me.”
Fifteen minutes later I’m standing next to Sundance Kid and combing her coat. Clyde assured me she was the gentlest of horses, but how do I know what’s lurking behind this animal’s large, black eyes? Could be an intense desire to karate chop me with a hoof.
I go through the whole grooming routine like Clyde showed me and then pick up a brush to tackle Sundance’s tail. I stay to the side of the horse like Clyde demonstrated, working in small sections to ease out any tangles in the hair.
I’m Sure “Sundance, the bad news is you have some serious dead ends. The good news is you’ve got some great highlights.”
Can’t seem to get all the tangles. This one piece just will not come out of its knot. “Hang on, girl. I’ll get it for you. I’m really good with hair.” Need some detangler. I lean down a little closer. “Almost got it. Just a little bit more and—”
The tail lifts and a yellow stream shoots out like a Super Soaker.
I jump back. But not before I’m drenched in horse pee. At the sound of laughter, I look over and see Clyde and the camera guy watching me like it’s a spectator sport.
“Hope you enjoyed that.” I wring out my hair and wipe my hands on my jeans. “I think I’m going to cut out of here early, if that’s okay.”
On my way home, I call Dolly and tell her I’ve got all the info I need on farm life.
“That’s okay, sweetie,” she says. “It’s not for everybody.”
chapter eleven
Budge, your Thursday night gamer meeting is going to have to wait. Jake said the entire family has to be home so we can watch the premiere of Pile Driver of Dreams.” I’m just now getting to the point where I don’t roll my eyes every time I say the show’s title. It’s a huge step in my path to maturity.
Budge readjusts his backpack over his shoulder and bumps knuckles with a passing friend. “So far this reality show crap is lame, man.”
“Um, did they get footage of you getting bathed in horse tinkle? I don’t think so.” Who knows what else they have.
I stop in my tracks at the tap on my shoulder.
“Are you Bella Kirkwood?”
This question always fills me with dread. Especially when asked by a girl in a dog collar who clearly just escaped from a punk rock video. Or prison.
I turn around and hope my eyes are not bugging. “Yes, I guess I am.”
“I’m Ruthie McGee. You might have heard of me.”
I’m not sure what the right answer is here. “Uh . . . no.” The girl in front of me has the most remarkable hair of black and white, like an irate skunk roosted on top of her head. It stands in spikes that defy the laws of gravity.
I look back, thinking Budge took the opportunity to escape, but he stands behind me, frozen. Unable to move, suspended in a trance of hair and black leather.
“I need your help.”
My next words take all the courage I’ve got. “I don’t work for free.” Please don’t kill me.
Ruthie chews on a wad of gum, her black-lined eyes narrowed into slits. I take a step backward.
“Fine.” She pops a bubble. “I’m willing to pay, but I don’t want you to take on any other cases—just mine. And I’ll make it worth your while, but only half now. The rest when the mission is accomplished. Here’s my problem.” She jerks her head toward Budge. “Is he just gonna stand there and eavesdrop?”
My stepbrother’s mouth is open so wide, drool is bound to start pooling any second. I nudge him with my elbow.
“Ignore him. He won’t repeat anything you say.” Plus, I think he’s too scared to move.
“I’m running for prom queen.”
I process this. “Do you need assistance with your updo?”
She laughs, great rolling barks that come from deep within her throat. Then she sobers. “I need help clearing my good name.” She shoves a piece of paper in my face. “This was on my bike when I got out of school yesterday.”
“You don’t really strike me as the ten-speed type of girl.”
“My motorcycle.”
“Right.” I look the paper over. It has a color picture of Ruthie making out with a guy. I lift a brow in question.
“It’s not me.”
I check the paper again. “The face is kinda blurry . . . but that is definitely your hair.”
“I’m telling you, that isn’t me!” Ruthie reaches for her shirtsleeve, where she’s got a small box rolled up. She shakes her head and drops her hand. “No, I’m trying to cut back.”
“Marlboros?”
“No.” Her face scrunches. “That stuff will kill you. Breath mints. I eat ’em when I’m stressed. I went through twelve boxes just last night.”
“There is a pleasant aroma of spearmint about you.”
“The picture, Kirkwood. Focus on the picture. That is not me. Someone is trying to destroy my good name.”
“Why would they do that?”
Her look says are you stupid? “Because they’re jealous, that’s what. I got the bod, the skills, the looks.”
And a few tattoos.
“This note was with the picture.”
Drop out of the prom queen race or prepare for the consequences.
I study the writing, but can’t determine if it’s from a male or female hand.
“Ruthie, it’s not that bad. I mean, so you’re kissing a guy here. Big deal.”
“Big deal? This wacko is going to send this to everyone I know. The photo’s been doctored, but no one will believe it.”
“Who’s the guy?”
“My best friend’s boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Not good.
“My daddy’s gonna freak.”
“I’m sure he’ll understand.” With a kid like you, he can’t be expecting an angel.
“Just tell me you’ll investigate and find out who’s doing this.” She stuffs the papers in my purse. “You don’t know my dad.” And she stomps off in her black spike-heeled boots.
I laugh and look at Budge, who has at least managed to close his mouth. “Daddy must be rougher than she is, if she’s scared. Do you know her?”
Budge swallows and nods. “That’s the Baptist preacher’s daughter.”
“She’s a nut job.”
He dabs at some sweat on his forehead. “I think I love her.”
After filling out a dozen job applications in town and dropping them off, I return home to the smell of steak.
I say hi to Mickey Patrick, who’s perched on a chair in front of the TV. I know he’s anxious to see how his star Jake is going to be portrayed tonight.
“Just in time to grab a plate,” Mom says as I shuffle into the kitchen. Our kitchen suffered a fire a few months back and got a makeover, and it’s the only room that doesn’t look like 1975. Mom says we’re going to slowly redo the other parts of the house, but so far we haven’t even progressed to 1980.
“There’s steak on the stove and salad on the table.” Jake plops a baked potato on my plate. “Grab something to drink and let’s settle in the living room.”
We never know when the camera guys are going to be present, so I’m thankful to see the house is free of them tonight. I count heads and find Budge in the living room already. Mom and Robbie in the kitchen. “Who a
re the extra plates for?”
“I invited Dolly. She’s running late.” Her gaze doesn’t quite meet mine.
“Who else?”
“Luke Sullivan.” Mom smiles and hands me silverware. “He said the paper wanted him to have as much access to us as possible, so I called him.”
“Great. Perfect.” Maybe he’ll bring Miss Harvard. They can talk about super-smart things while we watch footage of Jake in spandex tighties. And if I’m really lucky there’ll be footage of me with my head stuck up Sundance’s butt while she’s soaking me in urinary Mountain Dew.
“Excuse me.” Robbie, dressed in his usual garb of a superhero t-shirt and red cape, moves in front of me to grab a baked potato.
“Hey, buddy, you’ve already got one on your plate.”
Nervous green eyes look back at me. “I need to eat to build my strength. These are trying times for a superhero.” And he zooms to the living room.
That was strange. The kid usually eats like a bird. But strange is the order of the day with him. It’s like he has two personalities—one who believes he can fly. And the other part of him that is brilliant to the point of scary. I mean, when he’s not watching Superman cartoons, he’s watching the financial network on cable and taking notes.
The doorbell rings as I set my plate on the scarred coffee table.
Mom helps Robbie cut his meat. “Get that please, Bella.”
With one dramatic sigh, I fling open the door with a look that’s less than hospitable.
Luke smiles. He knows I don’t want him here.
“Where’s the girlfriend?”
“I’m working, so Taylor wasn’t invited.” He steps by me and greets the family.
“Luke, we have dinner for you. Bella will show you into the kitchen and get your plate.”
Ugh. Seriously, Mom? I know I’m supposed to have a servant’s heart, but I think the Bible mentions a few exceptions. Like arrogant, cocky editors. I think it’s in Habakkuk. Um, forty-second chapter, two hundredth verse. Might not be in all translations.
Luke follows me into the kitchen. I plop a steak on a plate and let him do the rest.
He stares at the food. “You didn’t spit in this, did you? Poison it?”
Hadn’t thought of that.
“Any updates on the stolen class funds?”
I yank open the fridge. “What do you want to drink?” Maybe some Ex-Lax?
He moves in and reaches for a water. “You’re dodging my question.”
“I dunno. No new developments at this point.” Unless you count the address for Victoria I got this afternoon from one of her friends.
He gets that look again. The one that makes me think he can see inside my head—and the contents amuse him. “Right.” And he walks into the living room, settling in like he’s part of our crew.
The only seat left is the space next to Luke on the couch. I consider standing, but I’m working on my maturity. I sit down and scoot so far to the edge away from him, the majority of my butt hangs off.
Dolly pops her head in the front door. “Hey, y’all.” She enters the living room, dressed in sweats, Nike running shoes, and her ever-present big hair. She blanches when she sees her ex-husband. “What’s he doing here?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? What are you doing here?” Mickey’s cheeks turn pink.
Dolly stomps into the kitchen and returns with food. Jake brings in another chair from the dining room and places it in the space beside Mickey. Dolly stares at all of us, waiting for us to offer our own seats—away from her ex. No one moves.
“Fine.” She sits down, her posture so straight it could snap.
As Mom and Jake talk, I hear Mickey mumble to Dolly. “You look nice tonight, by the way.”
“I came here straight from the gym thinking it was just going to be a night with the Finleys. My Maybelline’s all gone, I smell like sweat, and I just spent an hour in an aerobics class with twenty-year- olds.”
His face falls. “I still think you look beautiful.”
Oblivious to the Mickey and Dolly soap opera, Jake says a quick blessing and turns on the TV.
A familiar-looking man appears on the screen. He stands in the middle of a wrestling ring.
“Tonight on Pile Driver of Dreams, ten people . . . only one will walk away with the chance to go pro and be a regular on World Wrestling Television’s Friday Night Throw-Down. America, you will determine their destinies. Every week you get the chance to vote a wrestler off. We bring you live interviews and footage from their homes, getting up close and personal with their families. And we bring you the wrestling matches so you can decide if they’ve got what it takes to go pro. Ten people dreaming big . . . but is it big enough?”
Mom’s propped on the arm of Jake’s recliner. She leans into him and squeezes his muscular arm.
“Careful . . .” Luke whispers. “You’re smiling.”
I guess I am. “This is a big deal for them.” And it hasn’t been this big life intrusion I thought it would be. I think the show is so focused on Jake, they pretty much leave the rest of us alone. I hardly ever see the camera crew. I think I expected my life to turn into The Real World, but it totally hasn’t.
We watch as they do a brief bio on each contestant, showing video of wrestling matches, images of the family and the town each person is from.
The show begins with a guy named William Pearson, aka The Mutilator. In a brief interview, his son talks about what a great dad he is. His boss at Topeka First Federal tears up when he describes William saving the day when an armed robber held up the bank.
Another guy by the name of Sanchez the Snake discusses his mother while doing bicep curls. In the background his ex-wife quietly cries as he talks.
“Yeah, I want to be a wrestler . . . but mostly I want to save my mom. She’s in Mexico waiting on a liver transplant. The only thing keeping her alive right now is the hope she has in me.”
Oh, boy.
After three more men and two women contestants, Jake’s face lights up the TV.
Next, Harvey Runnels, president of Summer Fresh, beams with pride. “In twenty years, this maxi-pad assembly line has never run smoother. Nobody knows feminine protection better than Jake Finley.”
“It’s true,” Budge says from across the room. “Women owe a lot to this man right here.” He and Jake do an air high five.
Luke’s shoulders give a small jerk, and I know he’s laughing inside.
Why can’t Jake be a used car salesman like other stepdads I know?
The announcer’s voice continues to narrate. “A big man, big dreams, and a small town. But is there more to Jake Finley? Recently married to his online sweetheart, he added a stepdaughter to his family. While Jillian Finley appears to have adapted to Truman life, her daughter seems to cling to the drama of Manhattan.”
The steak becomes a tasteless wad in my mouth. I spit it out into my napkin and zone in to the nightmare unfolding on the television. I scoot closer to Luke to get a better look.
“Suffering a bad breakup when her boyfriend hooked up with her best friend, Bella found solace in the simple life of Truman, Oklahoma. Or did she?”
Video footage rolls of me at Dolly’s farm. Me with my head under Sundance’s tail, getting sprayed down in horse pee. Me dumping over the wheelbarrow of poop. Me screaming at dumping over the wheelbarrow of poop.
Budge and Robbie laugh until I can hardly hear the TV.
“I had no idea anyone saw that,” I mumble. “Especially cameras.” And my mom hasn’t totally adapted to Oklahoma life either. Yesterday she sat at her computer and stared at a Valentino dress for forty-five minutes.
“Recently Bella Kirkwood’s ex-boyfriend has returned to her life. Sources say he could be seriously ill and is searching for forgiveness . . .”
There I am, head-to-head with Hunter at Starbucks in Manhattan.
“. . . or is the young couple searching for something more?”
My dad’s front steps. Me wrapped in
Hunter’s arms. It was such a simple hug, but the photo makes it look like . . . so much more.
Beside me I feel Luke stiffen. I steal a glance at his face, but it reveals nothing.
I grab Luke’s plate and stand. “This is ridiculous. Those cameras—they’re everywhere. I had no idea!” I feel so violated. So exposed. So Lindsay Lohan’d. “This isn’t fair. Can’t we do something about this?”
Mom slowly shakes her blonde head. “We knew this would be intrusive, Bella. We talked about this. We agreed as a family.”
“I thought they’d intrude on him.” I point to Jake. “My life is one big tabloid now. This is crazy. Everyone knows my business. I feel like an Olsen twin!” I step over Robbie and his cape on the floor and take the plates to the sink.
I have to get out of here. I need some air. Some space.
Some Ben & Jerry’s.
chapter twelve
After pulling Mom aside and assuring her I will be home by ten-thirtyish, I sneak out the back door and hop into the Bug.
I turn the key. And nothing.
“Come on. I don’t have time to charge the battery. You can do it.” I pat the car’s dash in case she needs a boost of encouragement. I know sometimes I do.
I try a few more times, but the car is deader than my career as a horse groomer.
I jump at the knock on my window. Luke stands there with his arms crossed and that infuriating smile.
“Going somewhere?”
“Nowhere important. Just have to run an errand.”
“Would this errand be in Tulsa?”
“Sorry!” I tap on the glass. “Can’t hear you! You should probably go back in and take some more notes.”
“Car won’t start again?”
I roll down the window and feel the frigid December wind whoosh in. “No offense, but you’re starting to annoy me.”
He casually reclines against the car. “Face it. You need a ride.”
“I don’t need anything from you, Sullivan.” I twist the key in vain. “How did you know I was going to Tulsa?”
“I have my ways.” He dangles his keys from one finger. “We can stop at the Truman Dairy Barn on our way out of town.”
“Like I’d be that weak.” I’m sure.
“Double scoops?”
I'm So Sure (2009) Page 6
