by April Lurie
“Oh, no, you see, that's not why—”
“I knew you'd reconsider. Now come, sit down.” He led me to the piano, where I reluctantly took a seat on the bench. “I have a vast selection of sheet music you can choose from. Wait right here.”
While Mr. Ruffalo shuffled through a stack of folders on his desk, Pee Wee pointed the neck of his guitar at me and said, “Ha, ha. Busted.”
Meanwhile Dominick strolled up behind, threaded his arms around my waist, and began playing “Chopsticks.” He whispered in my ear, “I knew you'd come.”
“Mmmm, you must be psychic.”
When Ronnie saw us together, he whistled. “Watch out, Blondie. You might want to stay away from Dom. He's trouble waiting to happen.”
“Hey!” Larry said. “Dom's not trouble! He's my friend!”
We all laughed, except for Mr. Ruffalo. When he returned, he shoved Dominick out of the way and handed me a folder labeled POPULAR SONGS FOR THE BEGINNER. “Okay, now here's the deal. I don't usually work for free, but in your case I'm willing to make an exception. For a short while, that is, in the hope of sparking some interest.”
I flipped through the pages and spotted some pretty cool songs. There were even several by Cat Stevens.
“Choose one you'd like to learn,” Mr. Ruffalo said. “We'll have a lesson while the guys are eating. When you've mastered it, oh, say in a couple of weeks, we'll talk again. Now, of course, you'll have to speak with your parents, but if they agree, we can set something up on a weekly basis after school. I charge fifteen dollars per hour. Does that sound reasonable?”
I looked up, wondering how I'd gotten myself into this. “Um, yes, I guess so.”
“Great.” He smiled. “Let me know when you've made your choice.”
So while the guys ate lunch, Mr. Ruffalo taught me the intro to Cat Stevens's “Oh Very Young.” Surprisingly, I caught on pretty quickly, so I guess my lessons with Mrs. Higgenbottom hadn't been a total waste of time. At least, that was what Mr. Ruffalo said.
I returned to the band room every day that week, and even though I'd explained to Brandi and Olympia that I was indeed learning piano, Brandi claimed I was ditching them for Dominick. Which of course was true, but that was beside the point.
Anyway, each day I learned a few more stanzas of the song, and afterward, while the guys practiced for their gig, Mr. Ruffalo and I ate lunch and listened to them play. I even brought some ants on a log to share with him, as well as banana chips, soy nuts, and dried mango slices. He liked it all.
But the best part was when the bell rang and Dominick would walk me to English, pretend to read my palm, and ask if I'd come see him the next day. Which I always did. Then, like clockwork, Mr. Cornelius would show up, ask if I'd like a tardy, and remind me of the rough draft I still hadn't turned in.
The thing was, I had tried several times to write a rough draft, but for some reason I couldn't come up with a topic. And now with Dominick walking me to class every day it was becoming impossible to concentrate.
“Do you want to come to my house after school?” Dominick asked. It was Friday, and the two of us were standing outside Mr. Cornelius's room waiting for the bell to ring. “We could hang out, listen to records, maybe get some pizza?”
“Oh, that sounds great, it's just …”
“Just what?”
“Well, I have to watch Sammy after school. And tonight I have to babysit. It's my parents' anniversary and they have reservations at some fancy restaurant in the city.”
He thought for a moment. “Well, why don't you bring Sammy? We could hang out for a little while, anyway.”
If my parents hadn't been so lame this would have been a possibility, but I knew if I brought big-mouth Sammy along, they'd eventually find out. And if strange boys were not allowed at our house, I could just imagine their reaction to my spending an afternoon with Spawn of Satan in the apartment over Moe's candy store. “Hmmm, I don't know….” But just as I was about to say it probably wasn't a good idea, a thought popped into my head. I could ask Brandi to babysit. She was still pretty teed off about the lunch thing, but the way I figured it, I'd done so many favors for her and Walt, she owed me one. “Well, actually,” I said, “maybe I can.”
Dominick smiled. He hadn't kissed me since that day in the playground, but now his lips were very close to mine. I looked into his eyes and my knees got all wobbly. He leaned closer and, very softly, we kissed. Not just once, but a few times. I wondered if what we were doing could be classified as making out. Whatever it was, I didn't want to stop.
Suddenly I heard a familiar voice. “Miss Lundquist? What, may I ask, are you doing?”
I looked up and saw Mr. Cornelius. The combination of horn-rimmed glasses, widow's peak, and furrowed brows made him especially frightening today. “Maybe this time you'd like a referral. And as for you, Mr. DeMao, I suggest you get to class before I call the principal.”
Dominick grinned. “Sure thing, Mr. C.” Then he whispered in my ear, “Please come today. I'll be waiting.”
“I'll try.” Mr. Cornelius got distracted by some guys throwing erasers across the room. I waved goodbye to Dominick. Right before I stepped into class, I turned my head, and there, halfway down the hall, stood Brandi and Olympia. Olympia was grinning widely, but Brandi looked like she was about to keel over and die. “What are you guys doing?” I said, wondering just how much they'd seen.
“What do you mean, what are we doing?” Brandi said. “What are you doing?”
Olympia gave her a sharp elbow. “Quiet, Brandi.” She held up a pink slip of paper, pointed toward the nurse's office, and rolled her eyes in Brandi's direction. Cupping one hand over her mouth, she said, “Someone needs a pad.”
“Miss Lundquist!” Mr. Cornelius bellowed from inside the room.
“Listen, I gotta go. See you guys later.”
Brandi was unusually quiet as she, Olympia, Larry, and I walked home from school. Normally Olympia didn't join us since she lived in the opposite direction, but Saturday morning the Booster Club was having its yearly bake sale, and she and Brandi were planning to whip up Betty Crocker recipes all afternoon. Originally I'd told them I'd help out, but now, hopefully, I had other plans.
“So, April,” Olympia said. “Tell us, what's going on with you and the infamous rock star, Dominick DeMao? Now that you've made out in the hallway, has he popped the question?”
Behind us, Larry was oblivious, beating a trash can, while Brandi walked a few paces ahead and kicked a tree branch into the gutter. I shot Olympia a warning look. “First of all,” I said, “we didn't make out—”
“Oh, come on, April, what would you call it, then?”
“We kissed, okay? And anyway, what do you mean, ‘popped the question'?”
Olympia grinned. “You know, did he ask you out?”
I shrugged. “Sort of. I'm … not really sure.”
“Well,” she said, “from the looks of things today, I'd say yes. Anyway, how was it?”
At that moment, Brandi turned around. “Will the two of you shut up! God, Olympia, you act like April should be proud of what she did. Personally, I think it's disgusting!”
“Brandi, come on,” I said. “You're making a big deal over nothing. It was a kiss, that's all.”
“Yeah, Brandi,” Olympia chimed in, “and maybe if you'd stop acting like such a prude, Walt might finally plant one on you.”
Olympia raised an eyebrow at me, and I couldn't help it; the thought of dorky Walt kissing Brandi was just too funny. We started to laugh.
Brandi's eyes widened; she turned and ran up the street. “Brandi, wait!” I yelled. “We were just joking!”
Olympia and I chased after her, and when we finally caught up, Olympia grabbed her by the arm. “Leave me alone!” Brandi said, fighting back tears. “Go away!”
“Brandi, we're sorry,” I said pleadingly. “We shouldn't have laughed.”
“Yeah, Brandi,” Olympia said, “and I shouldn't have said what I did. It's j
ust … you are overreacting. April's right, it was just a kiss.”
“It's not that!” Brandi exploded.
“Well, what is it, then?” I said.
“How do you think it feels when your two best friends have kissed a guy and you haven't? Let me tell you, it sucks!”
A tear trickled down her face. Olympia and I looked at each other, and together we wrapped our arms around Brandi. It was just like one of those group hugs my parents did with Sammy. A moment later, Larry came up from behind. He smashed the stop sign on the corner with his drumsticks and said, “What the heck are you girls doing?” Brandi was the first to start cracking up; Olympia and I joined in.
“Oh, Larry, we're just hugging,” Olympia said.
I brushed a tear from Brandi's face. “Listen,” I said, “don't worry about the kiss, okay? It'll happen soon.”
“You think so?”
Olympia and I nodded in unison. “I know so,” I said. “I mean, really, how could Walt resist?”
Everyone was in a happy mood now, so as we walked along, I thought it might be a good time to pop the real question. “Hey, uh, Brandi? Olympia? I know I was supposed to help you guys bake this afternoon, but something came up, and actually, I was wondering if you'd do me a favor.”
“Oh?” Brandi said. “What is it?”
“Well.” I chewed my lip. “You see, Dominick asked if I'd come to his apartment after school today. He said I could bring Sammy along, but if I do, I know he'll blab to my parents.”
“Ooooo,” Olympia said. “This sounds interesting.” She elbowed Brandi. “Sure, we'll do it, April. Come on, Brandi, say yes.”
Brandi frowned. “I don't know. Sounds deceitful to me.”
“Exactly,” Olympia said. “That's why it's called a favor.”
As I stood there, waiting for Brandi to make her decision, a car whizzed by, beeping its horn. “Yo, Larry!”
The three of us turned around and saw Larry waving. “Hey, Nicky! Nicky Jag!” The car slowed down and I almost died. It was the young gangster in the black Jaguar convertible—the one who'd rescued Bettina from the clutches of my lovesick brother in the park. I watched as he pulled up to the curb.
“Oh my God,” Brandi said. “It's him.”
“Gimme five, Lar-rey.” The two of them slapped hands, front and back. “You're still playing those drums, huh?”
Larry stood up tall. “I'm in a band now.”
“A band! That's hard-core!” They slapped each other five again. “I'll have to come hear you play sometime. But listen, I gotta go now—places to see, people to meet. I'll see you around, all right?”
“Okay, bye, Nicky Jag.”
Before the young gangster pulled away, he looked directly at me. “Hey, Blondie, take good care of my buddy Larry, all right?” There was a strange, crooked smile on his face. A shiver passed through me as I remembered that awful dream—sitting on the hood of his car in Sammy's Underoos while this young guy planted kisses up and down my neck. I stood there frozen as he revved his engine and took off.
Suddenly I had a feeling, deep in my gut, that something was wrong. “Listen,” I said to Brandi and Olympia. “You guys take Larry home, okay? I'll meet you at my house.”
I took off running and didn't stop until I reached my front stoop. Breathless, I raced up the stairs two at a time. Inside, I heard Dark Shadows playing in the basement. Barnabas Collins was laughing sinisterly, and Johnny was yelling, “Hey, Sammy, cut it out, that's my Ring Ding!”
I searched for signs of Matt, but his shoes weren't in their normal place and his jacket wasn't hanging over the banister. Maybe he was at basketball practice after all. Maybe there was nothing to worry about. But then I saw a box of frozen veggie burgers sitting out on the dining room table. I knew I hadn't left them out that morning. Something was up.
I gripped the banister and slowly walked upstairs. The door of Matt's bedroom was closed. I knocked a few times, and when there was no answer I pushed it open.
There, on the floor, crumpled in a corner of the room, sat Matt. He was holding a veggie burger against one eye, and the rest of his face was red and puffy like he'd been crying. When he saw me, he grimaced and yelled, “Get the hell out of my room, Monk!”
I was not about to take orders from him now. “Matt! Oh my God! Are you okay? What happened?” I ran into his room and knelt beside him.
Slowly, he took the frozen patty off his eye. It was black and blue and the lid was swollen shut. A chickpea was stuck to his eyelash, and I wanted to brush it off, but from the look on his face I figured it wasn't a good idea. “I'm fine, Monk. Got hit with an elbow at basketball practice. Now get out of here and leave me alone.”
“Are you kidding? Do you really expect me to believe that?”
He glared at me. “Why shouldn't you believe me? Stuff like this happens all the time. Just the other week, Gus Picini got his front tooth knocked out.”
“But … I saw that guy on Twelfth Avenue. Bettina's cousin—the one with the Jaguar convertible. Larry called him Nicky Jag.”
“Oh, so you think he did this? Nicky Jag?” He laughed a little, then winced at the pain. “Sorry, Ape, I know you want to believe someone's out to kill me, but it's not happening.” Gently, he placed the burger back on his eye. Only now the patty was beginning to crumble, and some lentils fell on his lap. “Listen, Monk, the only reason I'm sitting here, pissed off at the world, is because the first performance of Romeo and Juliet is next weekend.” He pointed to his face. “And I look like freaking Quasimodo. I swear, they better not give my part to someone else.”
The burger had completely disintegrated now, so I got a better look at the damage. Either Matt was a pretty convincing liar, or some giant on his basketball team had an elbow made of steel. Anyway, if he was telling the truth, I figured he'd gotten what he deserved, dancing around and rejoicing when he found out Brandon Ritchie had chicken pox.
“Well, Mom has some makeup you could use,” I said. “That might cover it up.”
“Yeah, that's all I need. A little help from Cover Girl.” He tossed the remains of the burger into the trash can. “Look, Monk, if you want to help, why don't you go downstairs and get me another one of those stupid vegetable pieces of crap?” He let out a deep sigh. “Why can't we be like a normal family and have a few steaks in the freezer?”
I looked at his eye, thinking he did bear a resemblance to the deformed hunchback from Victor Hugo's novel. Too bad they weren't putting on that play. “All right, hold on, I'll get you one.”
When I got downstairs Brandi and Olympia were walking in the back door. “Is everything okay?” Brandi said. “Is Matt home?”
Olympia ran and gave me a hug. “Oh, April, Brandi told me what's been going on. I can't believe you guys are involved with the Mob! And your poor brother!”
I shot a few daggers at Brandi, wondering just how much she'd told Olympia. Meanwhile, from the basement I heard Johnny and Sammy fighting over the remaining Hostess cakes. “Give me that Yodel, Sammy, now!”
“All right, Johnny!” I yelled. “It's time to go home! And Sammy, turn off that stupid show before I tell Mom why you've been having nightmares!”
Immediately the TV went off, and as the two of them fought over the last Yodel, I grabbed the box of veggie burgers off the dining room table. By now they were mostly thawed, so I stuck them back in the freezer and pulled out a bag of tutti-frutti tofu pops. Leave it to my mother to find a frozen confection made from tofu.
“April?” Brandi said. “What are you doing?”
I pulled out one of the pops, and through the cellophane I could see that it had a bad case of freezer burn. “These are for Matt,” I said. “He's got a black eye.”
Olympia gasped. “Oh, no! Don't tell me he got beat up?”
“Was it him?” Brandi said. “The guy in the Jaguar?”
I held up one hand. “Okay, before you guys jump to conclusions, I don't think there was any foul play. Matt said he got elbowed at basketball
practice.”
“Do you believe him?” Brandi said.
I shrugged. “I don't know.”
Sammy and Johnny were approaching the top of the stairs. “Listen, April,” Brandi said, “Olympia and I were talking and, well, why don't you go ahead with your plans this afternoon? We'll watch Sammy.”
I looked at her. “Really, you mean it?”
She motioned for me to move along. “Yes, I mean it. Now run upstairs and take care of Matt before Sammy starts asking a million questions. And have a good time later with you-know-who. But not too good, if you know what I mean.”
“Thanks. I will.”
As I ran up the stairs I heard Brandi say, “Come on, Sammy, let's go to my house. We're baking brownies.”
“Ha, ha, you can have your stupid Yodel, Johnny! I'm baking with the girls!”
I walked into Matt's room, and when he saw the bag of pops he managed a small smile. “Hmmm, tutti-frutti tofu. Not a bad way to get rid of those things.” He plucked one from the bag, pressed it to his eye, and reached in for another. “What do you think, Ape, should I eat one?”
I examined the bag and noticed the PAREVE label. “Well, they're kosher.”
“Eh, what the heck.” He ripped one open and took a bite. “Yeah, just what I thought. Tastes like crap. Oh, well.” He finished chewing and took another bite.
“Hey, Matt,” I said, plunking down next to him. “Seriously, are you telling me the truth? Did you really get elbowed at practice? Because, well, Bettina …” I was thinking about the sealed envelope sitting in my drawer, wondering if and when I should give it to Matt.
He stopped chewing and looked at me. “Bettina what?”
“Well, that day she was here, she told me if anything should ever happen, I mean, if the two of you weren't able to see each other again—”
“Listen, Monk, I already told you! I got hit in the eye at practice. And besides, even if I did get nailed by one of those creeps, I don't care. I'm not afraid of them. No one is gonna tell me I can't see Bettina.” He took another bite of the pop and chewed.
