Brothers, Boyfriends & Other Criminal Minds

by April Lurie

  “Oh, Sammy, come on—”

  “Please, my throat's dry and my stomach is growling.”

  That kid was such a faker. “All right, fine, down to the kitchen with you, but let's make it quick.” Since Sammy was not a big fan of rice cakes or raw sunflower seeds (the only snacks I could find in the cupboard), I wound up making him a grilled cheese sandwich and a milk shake. As I was sitting at the table watching him eat, realizing that if the little stinker had just kept his mouth shut earlier I wouldn't be in this mess, I came up with an idea for my short story.

  I grabbed a pad and pencil and scribbled down some random thoughts. When Sammy took his last bite, I said, “Okay, mister, time for bed.”

  I tucked him in and quickly got the typewriter from Matt's room. Suddenly a whole story—characters, scenes, dialogue, even a title!—was forming in my brain. Mr. Cornelius had told us to write what we knew, and if there was one thing I knew it was babysitting. Who would have thought Sammy would be my muse? I typed away like a madwoman, and by the time Matt and my parents got home, I had a rough draft.

  Since I didn't feel like talking to any of the annoying members of my family, I turned out my bedroom light, pretending to be asleep. The three of them talked in the kitchen for a while, mostly about Matt's black eye and how he needed to be more careful at basketball practice. When the whole house was quiet again, I gathered my papers together, took out my flashlight, and with a red pencil began to add, delete, and revise.

  When I was finished I had a very dark comedy called “Babysitting Games.” It was kind of a twist on Mark Twain's “The Ransom of Red Chief,” but instead of the unruly boy torturing his kidnappers, it was about a baby sitter playing “games” with a mischievous kid who seriously needed to learn a lesson. The climax came when the babysitter dressed up like an Indian—war paint and all— tied the kid to a stake in his own living room, doused the carpet with lighter fluid (actually water, but the kid didn't know that), and struck a match.

  Of course, the whole thing was a total spoof, so I hoped Mr. Cornelius would get the humor. I figured if he didn't I'd probably be sent to the school counselor for a series of psychiatric tests. But I didn't care. Writing the story turned out to be therapeutic, and when I woke up in the morning I didn't have the urge to string Sammy up on a clothesline or pack my bags for Grand Central Station.

  Another good thing about being grounded is that you can catch up on some reading. So after breakfast I took a seat on the front porch and began Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley. Mr. Cornelius had told the class that it was one of his favorite books, and I could see why. After reading the first chapter, about a futuristic fertilizing room where genetically engineered people hatched human embryos, I was hooked. This guy Huxley was more bizarre than Poe, Conrad, and King put together.

  Anyway, just as I was getting to the really good part where Lenina and Bernard meet a Savage (ironically, a guy born the old-fashioned way) I heard someone walking up the front steps. “Hi, April.”

  I looked up from page seventy-six and saw Bert standing in front of me. “Oh … hi.” I glanced around. “Um, what are you doing here?”

  He jabbed his thumb toward Brandi's house. “I came with Walt. Brandi just got home from a Booster bake sale, and the three of us were gonna go to the movies. I asked her if you'd want to come along, but she said you might be busy. Anyway, I saw you sitting here reading so I thought I'd come and ask.”

  I was grateful Brandi hadn't blabbed to Bert about my being grounded. It was kind of embarrassing. “Oh, I'd like to, it's just, well …”

  Bert craned his neck, trying to get a glimpse of my book jacket. I turned it over so he could see. “Wow, that's crazy,” he said. “I just read Brave New World. It's now officially my favorite book.”

  “I like it too. It's pretty weird.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, supposedly Huxley did a lot of acid when he was writing, you know, to expand his mind. Judging from the story, I'd say it worked.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Anyway, do you want to come with us? I voted for The Exorcist Two, but Walt insists on seeing Star Wars again. He's a little obsessive about the special effects.”

  I had already seen Star Wars three times that summer, but I would have loved to go again. Like Walt, I was obsessive, not about the special effects, but about Han Solo's killer smile. “I'd like to, but well … I'm grounded.”

  Bert thought this was funny. “Grounded? For what? Wait, let me guess. Drugs? Sex? Booze?”

  “How about all three?” I picked up an acorn and tossed it at him.

  “April, is someone here?” My mother stepped out the door and smiled when she saw Bert. “Well, hello, Bert, it's nice to see you again.” She looked at me. “Do you two have plans?”

  My mother seemed to be having a brief bout of amnesia. As I recalled, she'd grounded me the night before, and my dad and she were going to discuss the details of my punishment today. She stood there waiting for an answer while Bert cleared his throat. “Well, I was hoping April could come to the movies with Brandi, Walt, and me, but it looks like—”

  “Oh, how nice. What are you going to see?”

  “Um.” Bert glanced at me. “Star Wars. But if April can't go I understand—”

  “What time does it start?”

  “Mom?”

  “Shhh.” She made a face and waved me away.

  “Actually”—Bert glanced at his watch—”the movie starts in half an hour, but it's playing at the Alpine, so if we leave now, we'd make it in time.”

  Mom raised both hands. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead. Oh, but wait.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a few singles. “Here's some money for popcorn. Ask them to please salt it lightly.”

  I looked at the money. “Mom? Are you forgetting something? Like the fact that you grounded me until further notice?”

  She sighed. “Yes, well, your father and I talked a few things over last night, and we'll discuss the situation later. Right now, go ahead and have a good time with your friends.”

  I looked at Bert and shrugged. “Okay, whatever.”

  “I thought you were grounded,” Brandi whispered to me when Bert and I showed up at her front door.

  I shrugged. “Yep, me too. But here I am. Go figure.”

  As the four of us set off for the Alpine, Walt and Brandi fell behind, talking and laughing, which left Bert and me with about ten blocks' worth of conversation to make. “So,” he said, “how's tennis going? Did you ever call that coach, Frank Stapleton?”

  “Oh, no. I was thinking about it, but …” I shrugged.

  “But what? Come on, you're an amazing player. In fact, you inspired me that day at Poly Prep. Now, don't laugh, but I'm planning to try out for Xavierian's team.”

  “Why would I laugh? I think that's great. You should go out for the team.”

  “Well, thanks, but if you recall, I'm not too swift at the net, and actually …” He smiled shyly. “I was wondering if you'd be willing to help me. Tryouts are next week and I could use a few pointers. It wouldn't be a date or anything—just a few friendly games.” He put one hand over his heart. “Scouts' honor.”

  “Please don't tell me you're a Boy Scout.”

  “Yep, Walt and I are just one badge away from becoming top-ranking Eagle Scouts.”

  My jaw dropped. “You've got to be kidding!”

  “Ha, ha. Gotcha.”

  “Eagle Scouts,” I said, giving him a shove. “Very funny.”

  “Well, what do you say, will you help me improve my tennis game? Please, I'm desperate.”

  I sighed. “All right, but under one condition. We play on my turf—the park. I'm not wearing that stupid skirt again.”

  He nodded. “Deal.”

  After that we talked about Brave New World and whether there really was a possibility of genetic engineering. Bert thought there was, but I was holding to my theory that we'd all be zapped by a Russian nuclear bomb before anything like that c
ould happen. Anyway, before I knew it, Bert and I were crossing Fort Hamilton Parkway, and up ahead stood the Brooklyn Performing Arts Center. In just one week, Matt and Bettina would debut as Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed lovers both on-and offstage. It was pretty unnerving. I noticed that the building was dark and empty, but as we passed by, voices drifted from the enclosed courtyard on the lower level. I stopped and listened. “Hey, Bert, will you wait here a minute? I need to check on something.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I took a quick look down the street and saw that Walt and Brandi were trailing pretty far behind. I had time. Quietly, I tiptoed down the stairs and peered over the marble banister. On a wooden bench, in front of a sparkling fountain, Matt and Bettina sat huddled together. Sammy's Kermit the Frog comforter was draped around their shoulders. They were speaking in hushed voices, and I watched as Matt reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind Bettina's ear. Before he could spot me, I hunkered down to listen.

  “I'm really glad you came,” Matt said. “I've missed you.”

  Bettina laughed a little. “Missed me? That's silly, Matt, we've been seeing each other at rehearsal almost every night.”

  “Yeah, but it's not the same. I like being here with you, alone, in our secret place.”

  “Mmmm, me too.”

  I didn't hear anything for a while, so I peeked over the banister and saw the two of them making out. It was strangely repulsive and fascinating at the same time. While they were going at it, a car out on the street honked its horn loudly. Bettina gasped, and they both looked around, startled. Luckily, I'd ducked my head just in time. “Bettina, it's all right, don't worry,” Matt said. “It's just a car. No one knows we're here.”

  “I know, Matt, you're right. It's just sometimes I get scared, not so much for me but—”

  “Shhh. Don't say anything.”

  It was quiet, so I figured they were kissing again. Meanwhile, I peered around checking for Nicky Jag or any other suspicious Mafioso-looking vehicles, but the street was empty. I realized that anyone driving by this building would have no idea that Matt and Bettina were busy making out in the courtyard below. Matt was right. It was the perfect hiding place.

  I figured Walt and Brandi were about to catch up with us now, so I quickly padded up the stairs. When I reached the top, I saw Bert perched on a wooden crate next to a Dumpster. “So, did you have a good time down there? See anything interesting?”

  “Look,” I said, taking his arm and dragging him along. “When you're with me, don't ask any questions, all right? You're better off that way.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, whatever you say.”

  Inside the theater Walt bought Cokes for all of us, and with the money my mother had given me I ordered two large popcorns with extra salt and extra butter. As I handed a bag to Brandi, Bert piped up. “Wait a minute, April, didn't your mother say ‘lightly salted'?”

  I popped a few kernels into my mouth and chewed. After months of polyunsaturated fats, I was in heaven. I handed Bert the bag. “Hey, Bert, remember our agreement?”

  He looked puzzled for a moment, and then the light-bulb came on. “Ohhhh, right. No questions allowed.”

  There were plenty of seats, so we filed into a row, four across. Bert sat to my right, and I made sure Brandi was on my left. As the previews began, I leaned over and whispered, “Brandi, you're not going to believe this. Matt and Bettina were in the courtyard of the performing arts center—making out.”

  She gasped. “No way! Is he crazy? Doesn't he realize how risky that is?”

  “I guess not.”

  She shook her head and handed Walt the popcorn. He smiled at her.

  “You know what I think?” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “Today's the day.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Walt's going to kiss you, I can tell.”

  A few seconds later the lights dimmed, and as the movie began I saw Walt's arm creep across the back of Brandi's chair. Thankfully, Bert was smart enough to keep his hands to himself, and I enjoyed every kernel of my salty, buttery popcorn. About halfway through the movie, when R2D2 and C3P0 were getting ripped apart by aliens, Brandi nudged me. “April, did you see?”

  “See what?”

  “He did it. Walt kissed me.”

  She smiled, and even in the darkness of the theater I could tell she was blushing.

  When I got home, my mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner. Surprisingly, it smelled pretty good. “Hi, April. Did you have a nice time with your friends?” She sounded overly cheerful, so I knew something was up.

  I shrugged. “It was okay. Thanks, you know, for letting me go.”

  I kicked off my shoes, and as I was about to head upstairs, my mom turned off the stove and set down her spatula. “April, Dad and I would like to speak with you. Matt and Sammy aren't around, so maybe now's a good time.” She pulled out a chair. “Here, have a seat.” She walked into the living room and called my dad. “Honey, April's home! Can you come downstairs, please?”

  I plopped into the chair, awaiting another lecture and the terms of my forthcoming punishment. When my father arrived, he gave my mom a little smile and patted her back a few times. I took this as a bad sign. They sat down on either side of me, and my mother cleared her throat. They both looked pretty uncomfortable. “Well, April,” she began, “as I explained earlier, your father and I have discussed the situation, and well, we've come to the conclusion that you were right.”

  I looked at her, stunned. “Did you just say I was right?”

  She glanced at my father, who nodded and motioned for her to continue. “Yes, you see, we've realized that we shouldn't have jumped to conclusions concerning this boy, Dominick, based on”—she paused for a moment, trying to find the right word—”well, based on appearances. So after talking it through, we've agreed that you can invite him over sometime. When we're home, of course.”

  “Oh.” I glanced back and forth between them. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about this—a scheduled meeting with Dominick and my parents. It wasn't exactly his style. “Um, all right. Thanks, I guess. Is that all?”

  My mom looked at my dad. He nodded. “Yes,” she said, “that's all.”

  “So can I go now? I've got to type up the final draft of my story for English. It's due Monday.”

  “Oh, of course, that's fine. Dinner will be ready by seven, and I'm making one of your favorites—baked ziti. Brandi's mother gave me some of her sauce and I even used whole-milk mozzarella in the recipe.”

  I smiled, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. As I did, my dad winked at me. “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “Why don't you call me before dinner's ready and I'll set the table for you.”

  “Hey,” my dad said. “Don't I get a kiss too?”

  “Course you do.”

  On Monday morning, I walked to school with Brandi and Larry, carrying a crisp, clean typed copy of “Babysitting Games” tucked safely away in my loose-leaf binder. During lunch Mr. Ruffalo gave me another piano lesson, and while Dominick and his band practiced for their gig, I ate a huge Tupperware bowl full of cold ziti.

  Later, as Dominick walked me to English, he said, “I missed you this weekend. I was hoping you'd stop by.”

  “I wanted to, but a lot of stuff came up.” I paused, wondering if this was a good time to bring up my parents' offer. “Actually, my mom asked if you'd like to come over my house sometime. You know, when they're around.”

  “Really? Your mom wants me to come to your house?” He laughed. “Now, that's pretty wild. In fact, that's a first.” He rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. “Well, sure, why not?”

  The bell rang, and after Dominick kissed me goodbye, Mr. Cornelius stepped out of his room and cleared his throat. “I better go,” I said to Dominick. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, tomorrow.”

  As Dominick scurried down the hallway, Mr. Cornelius said, “So, Miss Lundquist, did you find any time over the weekend to write a stor
y?”

  I smiled, opened my binder, and handed Mr. Cornelius my beautifully typed pages. “Yes, actually, I did.”

  He gazed at the title page. “Well, what do you know? Wonders never cease.”

  At the end of the period, Mr. Cornelius decided to give us fifteen minutes of silent reading so he could begin grading our papers. When I opened Brave New World, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Staring up at me was President William McKinley. I'd never known his face was on the five-hundred-dollar bill.

  “Brandi! Brandi, wait up!” I called, plowing through the hallway, almost knocking down a seventh grader. English class had just let out, and sixth period was about to begin. I stopped, panting heavily. “Did you get one too?”

  “April, calm down.” Brandi glanced around and lowered her voice. “If you mean another hundred, no. We've already gotten four of those bills apiece. Why, did you?”

  “Get a load of this.” I opened my book and showed her the bill.

  She gasped. “Oh my God!”

  I snapped the book shut. “What are we going to do?”

  “I don't know.”

  “We have to do something,” I said. “This is getting ridiculous.”

  Brandi swallowed. “Um, listen, April, I know this might sound like I'm weaseling out, but Mr. Luciano gave you the bill, not me. And it's not that I don't want to help, but maybe it would be better if you talked to him alone. Maybe he'll even give you some advice on what to do about Matt.”

  “Alone?” I considered this for a moment, and even though I did think Brandi was hanging me out to dry, in a way I guessed she was right. Not only was I the sister of the guy stupid enough to date Bettina Bocelli, I was also the sucker holding the five-hundred-dollar bill. “Okay,” I said. “I'll do it.”

  Brandi grinned. “And may the Force be with you.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Danger and doom,” I repeated like a mantra on my way to class. “Danger and doom.”