Oh, nice. Guess some kids at Jackson High weren’t better than that. On the plus side, this was awesome research. I slid the note inside my textbook to save.
“Okay, class. Let’s discuss last night’s reading assignment. Who can tell me what the ‘hero’s journey’ is?” Miss Rose looked around the room. “Chad, what is the hero’s journey?”
“Uh… well, that’s when Luke saved Princess Leia and blew up the death star, right?” Chad slouched further down in his seat.
“Star Wars is an example of the hero’s journey, yes. But I was looking for a more substantive answer.” Miss Rose arched an eyebrow at him. “From our reading.”
The teacher’s gaze shifted to the girls behind me.
“Hang on, girls. I’m hoping to hear from some of our quieter voices. Did anyone other than Rowena and Shani do the reading assignment? Brad, Ashely, anyone? Gwen, how about you?”
“The hero’s journey?” Gwen asked, twirling a strand of long blond hair. “That’s like when a hero goes on a long trip. Not usually by plane, though. And he does hero stuff, you know, like fighting and stuff. Sometimes he dates Sandra Bullock.”
Laughter broke out around the room.
“So that’s a ‘no’ on the homework.” Miss Rose shook her head. “No one else?”
I slowly raised my hand. Why the heck not? I was posing as a nerd, right?
“Grant, give it a shot.”
“The hero’s journey is a classic plot structure in fiction made popular by Joseph Campbell. The journey can be divided up into seventeen steps or three stages: the call to adventure and departure of the ordinary world, initiation into unknown territory, and the return in triumph. Sometimes that ends with dating Sandra Bullock. But sometimes Sandra Bullock is the hero who returns in triumph.”
“That is correct, Mr. Stutterfield. Send a thank you note to your last English teacher for me.” She smiled at me before turning to the girl Gwen. “Grant makes a good point to remember. Females take the hero’s journey too. Scout, Katniss, Amari, and even in non-fiction, such as Malala Yousafzai or author bell hooks.”
Some guy in the back coughed out “nerd alert” and “dork” while half the kids in class snickered.
“That’s enough, Chad. Back to the hero’s journey…Campbell stated that…” Miss Rose lectured until the end-of-class bell sounded, wrapping up by calling out, “Fair warning! I’m putting pop quizzes back on the menu, so start doing your homework, people. Class dismissed.”
I spun around to the girls behind me. “Thanks for the seat.”
“Sadly, it means you’re officially a nerd. I’m Rowena; you can call me Ro.” She tilted her head to the girl next to her. “This is Shani.”
“Ha! Pretty sure that answer he gave made his nerd status official.” Shani smiled at me. “Where did you transfer from?”
“Oh, uh, California.”
“Nice,” Shani said. “You’re welcome to join us for lunch in the cafeteria.”
“Thanks. I just might.” I definitely needed to experience the cafeteria. Wasn’t that the place to see the hierarchy of cliques on full display? And if I didn’t see Bernie in there, at least I had my Funyuns, Little Debbie snack cakes, and Skittles to look forward to.
3
Diabolically Delicious
Bernie
A few days later.
The beautiful sweet scent of homemade blueberry pancakes hit my consciousness just as I slapped my alarm off. Oh man, my grandma Lolli was devious.
I rolled out of bed, threw on my favorite hand-me-down T-shirt (it was oversized, soft from years of washing, and the old school Pokémon logo still clearly visible) along with a pair of baggy camouflage cargo pants. Since I didn’t carry a purse, the many pockets came in handy. I tamed my curly hair by dragging it back into a low ponytail and splashed cold water on my face. I would need to be alert and on my game to deal with Lolli and her delicious pancake bribe.
After shoving my books into my backpack, I sat to pull on socks and my well-worn oil-stained Timberland boots, took a deep breath and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
“Morning, Lolli.” I dropped my backpack on a chair on my way to the fridge.
“Good morning.” Lolli tossed me a bright smile from where she stood at the stove. “I made your favorite blueberry pancakes.”
“They smell great. You’re going to spoil me while dad’s away.” I retrieved two glasses from the cupboard and poured milk into each. “Both of us usually eat cereal or frozen waffles for breakfast.”
“I know.” She laughed as she dished the pancakes onto plates, handing one to me. “That won’t happen on my watch.”
We settled at our small pine table and she let me get three whole bites down before she made her move.
“So… I ran into town yesterday and look what I picked up.” She pushed a flier across the table at me. I didn’t need to look. I knew exactly what it was. I shoved a big bite of pancake in my mouth so I had an excuse not to respond while I figured out how I was going to turn her down this year.
Two years ago, I’d resorted to tears—not full tears, since I wasn’t that good, but I got them to well up in my eyes by thinking about when my old dog Herbert passed away. Yes, I felt guilty about resorting to tears, but I was only sixteen and desperate.
Last year, I claimed I hadn’t recovered from the sprained ankle I’d gotten playing pick-up football with the neighborhood guys over winter break. It was sort-of the truth.
“The Miss Armadillo Pageant. This is your last year of eligibility.”
“Lolli…”
“Sweetheart, it’s tradition in our family.” Here it was. Lolli was going for the big sale. “It started with your great grandma Fritzie being the first runner-up. Then of course I was crowned Miss Armadillo when I was sixteen. Then your mama won. She beat out those Martin triplets, and everyone knows Eunice Martin tried to bribe the judges with her pickle pie.”
I froze with my fork half-way in the air. “Uh… Please tell me that isn’t some weird euphemism for—”
“Goodness no! She won the blue ribbon at the Texas State Fair three years in a row with her pickle pie. Luckily it did not sway the judges and your mama was rightfully crowned.”
“Yay.”
“I simply don’t understand why you won’t enter, Bernie.” Lolli frowned. “It’s so much fun. You get to wear a pretty gown, show off your talent, and share camaraderie with other girls.”
“Lolli, I’m not like you or mama. I don’t do dresses and I don’t have a talent.” And other than my best friend Lacey, my ability to bond with other girls went down exponentially the more I tried. I didn’t do gossip, care about fashion, or watch the latest reality TV dating show. Not many girls wanted to discuss cars, sports scores, or the need for vocational training.
“You do too have a talent. You make beautiful lamps.”
“Thank you for the compliment, but I weld them.” I’d begun making lamps out of old engine parts when I was learning to weld in order to work on cars. It turned out people liked them, so I began selling them to pay for car parts. “I can guarantee you the fire marshal would be a little upset if I fired up my welding torch on stage.”
“You make a good point. What about your music? You play the accordion.” She beamed at me as if she’d laid down a royal flush in one of our family night button poker games.
“I’ve only started teaching myself.” And I only did it as a joke. I’d discovered Grandma Gigi’s old accordion in the attic over the summer and thought she’d bust a gut if I played her a song with it.
“All you need is one song. I heard you play one yesterday.”
“No. You heard me fumble through half a song.” I took a drink of milk while I counted to ten. Lolli was sweet and I appreciated that she and Gigi took turns to come stay with me when Dad’s reserve unit deployed. But this pageant stuff was frustrating. “Lolli, I don’t have a talent. If the Beach Boys heard how badly I’m butchering “Kokomo” they’d have me arrested.”
“I
thought it sounded wonderful,” Lolli said with a sniff.
Sure she did. Because grandmas always thought their grandkids were amazing. Plus, she was clinging to this pageant dream like it would complete her life. Like between the three generations I would be the final win in her Miss Armadillo Triple Crown. Lolli needed more hobbies for sure.
“I’ve gotta go.” I cleared my dishes to the sink, grabbed up my backpack, wrapped two pancakes to go in a napkin and made for the door. “Have a great day.”
“What about the Miss Armadillo Pageant?” Lolli asked.
I had my foot on the first step outside and escape seconds away, but I paused in an attempt to end this madness.
“I love you very much.” I smiled at her, hoping she’d take this well. “But I’d rather wrestle a rabid armadillo in a tank filled with pudding before I entered the Miss Armadillo Pageant.”
“So, you won’t even consider it?” She raised one eyebrow. Never a good sign. Lolli could be stubborn as a bull when she got something in her mind. “This is your last chance. I hate the idea of you passing it by. It’s so important.”
“Lolli, I’m so far from the pageant type of girl it’s silly.”
“How do you know? You’ve never been in one.”
“Wow, look at the time. I don’t want to be late for school!” I let the screen door flutter shut behind me and hustled to my car before she could reformulate another line of attack.
For a girl who didn’t do drama, my life was starting to feel a little tense. Part of the problem was that I usually talked this kind of stuff over with Lacey. Between Dad leaving for deployment, Lolli and the pageant, the new guy Grant, Todd being even jerkier than usual, and needing more hours at work so I could replace my car battery (Lolli had insisted on replacing the microwave)…things felt like they were piling up.
But Lacey had a lot going on too, what with the talent showcase at school. I knew she was on the verge of freaking out, so I wouldn’t add to her stress. I felt like an overheating engine with pressure building and the temperature gage spiking to the red zone.
After parking in my assigned spot at school, I grabbed my backpack and napkin-wrapped pancakes and walked in the front entrance only to run into Lacey, standing leaning against one of the poster-filled columns.
“Hey! I’ve been waiting for you.” Lacey gave me her usual bright smile, only to have it fade. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She had more going on than I had, so I could hold off and talk to her after this weekend. The simple fact that my best friend could take one look at my face and know all was not right in my world made me feel better.
“Uh huh. First, I don’t believe that.” She arched an eyebrow at me. Yep. We may be total opposites, but she knew me. “Second, I’m so sorry I’ve been distracted by the whole talent showcase. But it’s over this weekend and then you and I are having a talk where you will confess all. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said.
“Third, do I smell Lolli’s blueberry pancakes?” Lacey’s gaze was glued to the pancake stash in my hand. “Please tell me you brought those to share with your best friend.”
“You know I did.” I handed her a pancake and took a bite of my own.
“I love you even more than I did thirty seconds ago. And thirty seconds ago I would have told you I couldn’t love you more.” Lacey took a bite and moaned in pleasure as she chewed. “Sweet, tart, and light as air. Your grandma’s pancakes are the food of angels.”
“I know,” I said, taking another bite as we both walked down the hall to our first period class. Today was a “B” day and we both had Mrs. Marcou for Advanced Calculus.
“Oh, no! I just realized what’s coming up.” Lacey’s gaze rose from her pancake over to me. “Is this part of Lolli’s push for the pageant again?”
“Yep.” I sighed. “As bribes go, they’re diabolically delicious.”
“They really are. If it helps, I volunteer to eat all the pancake bribes for you.”
I laughed. “So noted.”
At lunch time, I stopped by the front office to deliver my latest letter championing the need for continued funding for vocational training at the high school level. Principal Barstow hand-delivered my letters to each Board of Education meeting.
In my dreams, I hoped my letters would make an impression although they hadn’t yet. That didn’t stop me from trying though. Along with letters to the Board, I’d written letters to many non-profit and charity organizations for grants to keep Jackson’s vocational education funded.
“Hi, Mrs. G,” I said, handing my letter to the secretary. “Can you make sure Principal Barstow gets this?”
“Absolutely.” She took the envelope and winked at me. Was she trying to boost my morale since she figured vocation funding was a lost cause? “I was just about to send a runner for you. Mrs. Loftus, the new counselor, wanted to talk with you.”
Mrs. G handed me the blue counseling slip.
“What happened to Dr. Boyd?”
“Early retirement. I think Mrs. Loftus is free right now if you have time.”
“Sure.”
Her door was off to the left, down a short hallway. I knocked on her open door and she waved me in from her desk.
“Mrs. Loftus? I’m Bernie Jewell. Mrs. G said you wanted to see me.”
“Yes! Please sit. I’ve been working my way through all of the student’s records and noticed you records seem incomplete. Did you have your college advisory meeting with Dr. Boyd before he retired?”
“Yes, ma’am. I did.” I nodded and perched on the edge of the chair in front of her desk.
“We try to encourage each student to select five universities to apply to and then include a few reach schools. I don’t see your list in your file.”
“I plan to go to technical school.” She stared at me with a blank look so I added, “To become a certified mechanic. Although, I haven’t decided between cars or diesel truck engines yet.”
“A mechanic?” A wrinkle creased between her eyebrows. “But you’ve got excellent grades. You could study engineering or physics or even pre-med based on your SAT math score alone. Your verbal score is excellent also.”
“But I enjoy working with my hands.” I’d had this same conversation with Dr. Boyd.
“There are so many exciting opportunities for girls these days.” She leaned forward, clasping her hands in front of her on the desk. “You can absolutely reach higher than trade school.”
“I understand. May I ask you a question, Mrs. Loftus?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, sending me a bright smile as she pushed a fancy folder emblazoned with College: Your Ticket to the Stars across her desk to me.
“Is that a photo of your daughter?” I nodded to a photograph on the file chest behind her.
“It is.” The love on her face shone brightly. “That’s Emma. Of course, right now she’s fourteen going on twenty, so a handful, but we love her.”
“Right? So when Emma starts to drive, just out of curiosity, do you want a smart mechanic working on her car—say her brake lines—or the dumbest high school graduate?”
Mrs. Loftus blinked at me once. Twice. And then she reached across the desk and pulled the folder back, placing it off to the side.
“How about we schedule an appointment to see about trade school scholarships?” she asked.
“That would be great.”
I was heading toward the cafeteria to eat lunch when I got a text from Grant.
Grant: Hey, Bernie. I hate to tell you this, but I might have killed our engine. Again.
Me: DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING. I’ll be right there.
This was not the first time he’d texted me this. Just like the other two times, I totally broke school rules and ran through the hallway to shop class.
4
I Might Have Killed Our Engine
Bernie
There were only a couple other guys in the classroom, but the one I was concerned with had his hands too close to
our engine.
“Hands in the air, Stutterfield,” I called from the doorway.
Grant lifted his hands away and turned to face me wearing a rueful grin.
“I’m sorry.” He raised his goggles to rest on his forehead. “I was just trying to get caught up.”
“If you could tell me what happened with the fewest number of words—that would help.” I wasn’t trying to be rude, but the loss in last year’s state competition had been a dent to my confidence. And Todd’s regular reminders and insults only made it harder. With each passing day of this school year, my determination to win the class team competition grew. “I’m sorry. That came out too harshly. It’s just I really want our team to win this year.”
“No apology necessary. Having met Todd, I get it.”
I glanced over at the engine and could immediately guess what happened. “You dropped something down a cylinder.”
“How did you—yes.” He puffed out a breath. “I took off the intake manifold and I accidentally dropped a bolt in.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “This is not a problem. It would have been a problem if you hadn’t noticed and we’d turned the engine on. That would have killed our engine.”
“Good. So how do we get it out?”
“We’ll have to take the engine apart,” I said. Not a job I wanted to tackle.
“Apart?” Grant ran a hand through his blond hair and released a long whistle. “Man, I’m sorry. That’s a big job.”
“Or…if it’s our lucky day—we won’t.” I walked to our toolbox and pulled out a flashlight and the trusty magnet I had glued onto the end of a flexible rod.
“You’re going to fish for it?”
“That’s the plan.” I leaned over the engine, so I could look straight down into the cylinder, holding the flashlight aimed in one hand and my magnet in the other.
“I’ll hold the flashlight,” Grant said, taking it from me. He bent over the engine next to me, our bodies pressed close together as he aimed the light downward from just over my shoulder. “How’s that?”
The Tomboy & The Movie Star: A Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 3) Page 3
