Chapter Fourteen
Michelle and a gaggle of Girl Scouts arrived at our house on Friday night to give Logan his send-off from the troop. As the leader, Michelle broke the news to him and he seemed to take it rather well. I hadn’t said a word about it, nor had he.
Logan and the girls gossiped about teachers and classmates, and I could see why they loved him. Logan was giving a French braid tutorial to Ashley, using Bianca and Maya as models. Bianca began lamenting that Jared Rinder never called her after the middle school Harvest Dance. The conversation was held in hushed tones while Michelle and I poured soda into plastic cups, but we managed to get the gist of it. When Jared tried to feel up Bianca in the parking lot, she politely declined. The boy seemed to take the rejection in stride, saying that it was Bianca’s personality he liked. Feeling her boobs was just a bonus. After my initial shock that thirteen-year-olds were on the boob-feeling track, I had a second wave of horror. How did they get outside to the parking lot? I was a chaperone at that dance and I didn’t see a single kid leave the school gym. Logan told Bianca, “You cannot be stressing about this jerk. You are so much better than that.” She smiled, not sure if he was right, but appreciative nonetheless.
“Maybe I should call and ask what’s up,” she suggested tentatively.
Logan held up his hand and shook his head adamantly. “Do not call, do not email, do not text, do not send smoke signals. This dog did you a favor by showing you who he is.” The girls nodded emphatically.
“He told everybody that I’m a prude,” Bianca said, dismayed.
“What’s he gonna tell them?” Logan replied. “That you find him so ugly and stupid that you wouldn’t let him touch you?”
Uh, hello. Don’t let the handsome, smart ones touch you either! You’re thirteen!!!
“He shouldn’t have said anything,” Ashley said.
“If he had any manners, he wouldn’t’ve,” Logan said to a rapt audience. “But he doesn’t, so be glad you didn’t let him near you.”
“Shouldn’t I call him on it?”
Logan replied, “Bianca, can you honestly tell me you’re not hoping he’s gonna deny it? Or maybe he did, but only because he was so hurt and frightened by his intense feelings and he’s so sorry, blah, blah, blah, boo hoo?”
The girls laughed. Bianca smiled, busted. I would have let the conversation continue a bit longer, but Michelle announced that pizza was on its way and drinks were on the counter. As the girls served themselves, Maya bumped into Bianca and spilled an entire cup of Cherry Coke onto her friend’s pants. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Maya said, rushing for napkins. “Here, let me help clean that.”
“Maya, honey,” I said, interrupting the futile clean-up effort. “She needs to borrow a pair of your jeans.” Without a word to even acknowledge my suggestion, they ran upstairs, cataloging Maya’s selection.
Maya returned downstairs to the party too quickly, though, because her friend started shouting for her to come back up. “These don’t fit!” she bellowed for all of us downstairs to hear.
Maya was fully immersed in conversation with the other girls, so I went up to the room to help Bianca find another pair of pants.
When I opened the door, I managed to suppress my gasp, but Bianca saw my look of revulsion at the sight of her legs. “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I should have knocked.” My eyes asked for an explanation.
“My cat,” she offered. “She’s kind of wild.”
“What kind of cat do you have, a cheetah?” I asked, trying to ease the tension a bit.
“We’re going to get her declawed pretty soon.”
I opened Maya’s drawers to look for another set of pants for Bianca and spoke with my back toward her. “You know, your cat scratches pretty neatly. And deep.” Turning to her, I said, “It almost looks like it was done by a razor.”
“Hmmm” was her reply. “Do you think I could borrow these?” Bianca asked, holding Maya’s favorite lavender sweatpants.
I nodded for her to put on the pants. “I once read that cutting is very common among girls your age. High achievers, especially. The article had a story about a high school girl who was a straight-A student, captain of the cheerleading team and president of the student council, and she said that cutting her palm helped settle her nerves. Her school counselor said that some girls organize their pain by cutting, sort of like sweeping it all into one spot.”
“Oh,” she said so dismissively that I almost believed her leg was scratched by a house pet. “These look okay?”
“The pants look fine, Bianca,” I said, pressing the point.
“Thanks,” she said before disappearing down the staircase.
Jason walked in with the pizzas and placed them on our kitchen counter. “How’s it going?”
“He’s taking it very well,” I replied.
Michelle shifted her weight uncomfortably, nestling her chin into her chest slightly. “Um, you guys, there’s something I need to tell you.” We waited for her to continue. “I didn’t exactly tell Logan about the Girl Scout thing.”
“You didn’t tell him?” Jason asked.
“Not in so many words,” she said tentatively.
“How many words did you use?” I asked.
Sheepishly, she said, “None. I’m sorry, you guys. I couldn’t tell him. I was all set to, but then when I saw those big brown eyes looking back at me, I just didn’t have it in me.”
“Michelle, he didn’t go to today’s meeting,” I reminded her. “How’d you manage that?”
Michelle bit her bottom lip, knowing she was going to have to come clean. “I told him we were earning our, our, you know, feminine hygiene patch today.”
“You told him it was tampon day at Girl Scouts?” I asked.
Jason’s head dropped into his hands. Michelle squeaked, “And maxi pads. I told him we were going to be talking about our periods, so he said he’d sit this one out. I’m sorry.”
“So, Michelle, you’re telling me my son is at his own bon voyage party, but he doesn’t know he’s leaving?” She confirmed with the slightest nod and a string of apologies.
Jason walked over to where the kids were sitting and joined them in a slice of pizza. After his first bite, he announced, “I got some bad news for you all, okay? I’m gonna give it to you straight. Logan can’t be a part of Girl Scouts.”
Logan bolted upright from his reclining state. “You said I could, Daddy!” His eyes watered with betrayal and his face began to twitch as though he were suppressing tears.
“It’s not my decision, buddy. Girl Scouts turned down your application.”
Logan’s head snapped toward Michelle, who quickly replied, “Girl Scouts of America, not me.”
“Those bitches,” said Ashley. The others were equally outraged.
“Screw them,” Spencer said. “Let’s all quit and start our own troop, People Scouts.”
“Like we need their stupid vest and patches,” Maya added to the furor.
Side conversations began erupting, the general consensus being that if Logan was out, so were they. Finally, Logan interrupted. “You guys, this is really sweet of you, but I don’t want you all to quit. I’ll keep coming as a guest. I don’t need an official membership.”
“Oh boy,” escaped from Michelle’s lips. “Logan, I’m sorry, but headquarters says you can’t come to the meetings anymore.”
“Why? What did I do?” he cried.
Spencer chimed in and suggested the girls send a petition to Girl Scouts of America. “Will you write it, Mrs. Brennan?”
“Michelle is in enough trouble already,” I explained.
“You are?” asked her daughter with a hint of a smirk. “Cool.”
“I don’t want anyone to get in trouble,” Logan said to the floor. “And I don’t want you guys to quit.”
“What about you, Logan?” Maya asked. “What do you want?”
Logan thought about his sister’s question for a moment, then shrugged. “I
’m not sure. Let’s watch the movie and have fun. We’ll deal with it later.” Was Logan putting on a brave face for his friends? Was he indifferent? At the fridge later, I put my hand on his shoulder and asked how he was doing. “Honestly, Mom, I feel like shit.” He sighed. “I can’t believe they dumped me. I was such a good Girl Scout too.”
In the middle of Twilight, the doorbell rang. It was Beast and his son Kendrick, an absolutely adorable scruffy-haired boy wearing a soccer uniform and a thin layer of dirt on his knees. He looked like the kind of kid who should be cast in a Jif commercial, the unspoken promise being that if you feed your child plenty of peanut butter, he’d turn out to be a strapping young man like Kendrick. Frankly, I can see why he beat Max McDoyle in the elementary school election. I could see why he was the heartthrob of the eighth grade.
What I couldn’t see was any resemblance to the Beast. Was this the luckiest roll of the genetic dice, or did Daddy Scalpelhands perform his cosmetic “corrections” (as he called them in his ads) while Kendrick was in utero?
“I’m Dr. Monroe, pleasure to meet you,” he said to me as they stood at the door.
Oh yes, he’s so busy and important he doesn’t remember me.
“We actually met at —”
“Bianca!” he shouted. “Grab your stuff and let’s hit the road.”
I paused to stare at him, my passive-aggressive way of letting him know how rude I thought he was. “Would you like to come in?” I said, slowly and with incredulity.
Without a word, he stepped into the house, the handsome son a few paces behind. “Hey Kenny,” the girls sang in unison. Logan turned away. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it was like for Logan to be picked on by every dumb jock at school. If I could trade places with him, I would in an instant.
“Hey Logan,” Kendrick said after giving a wave to the girls.
“Oh hey, what’s up?” he replied.
“Nothin’,” Kendrick said.
Beast snapped, “Bianca, are you ready?!”
I thought about taking him aside and telling him about the cuts on Bianca’s leg, but somehow I thought his solution would be scar cream. Hyper-controlling code Nazi or not, Val was the point-person on this one.
“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor,” Bianca said, hurrying toward the door.
“You’re welcome. I told you, though, call me Lisa. Mrs. Taylor is my mother-in-law.”
“We’re trying to teach her to be respectful of adults,” Beast said.
I smiled and tried to keep it friendly. “Then she should respect my wishes and call me Lisa.” Kendrick raised his eyebrows.
“Whatever,” Beast grumbled. After the kids headed out the door, Beast handed me his business card and told me, “There are better ways to feel young, Mrs. Taylor. Make an appointment with my office if you want to talk.”
Chapter Fifteen
December
Logan and Jason were on their way out the door for their Saturday morning boxing date when we got the call that all firefighters from the area were needed to help combat a blaze in Los Lobos. “It’s okay, Daddy, we can skip today,” Logan said when he saw Jason’s disappointment.
Both Maya and I turned our heads toward the conversation as we finished our breakfast. “Lisa, can you take him today?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, it’s on the corner of —” Jason began.
“I know where it is,” I hedged. “He said he’s okay skipping today.”
“I’m not okay with him skipping today, baby,” he said. Logan shrugged his shoulders. “You’re making real progress, buddy. Your mom can take you.”
“To a boxing gym?” I said as though I were scraping gum off the bottom of my shoe.
“No way, Daddy,” Maya lobbied.
“Come on. There’ll be some other women there,” Jason said. “Granted it’s mostly guys and teenage boys, but there are a few girls too.”
Maya’s eyes lit up. “Boxing is the one where they take off their shirts, right?”
Jason shot a stern look. “Maya, this is a serious place.”
“Oh, I’m serious,” she said, grabbing her jacket off the back of the seat. “We’ll go. We all want to support Logan in his time of need.” She began scavenging around the house for her phone, stuffing it inside her backpack once she located it. She grabbed her shoes, probably faster than the folks rushing from their burning homes in Los Lobos, and started lacing them up.
Looking at his sister incredulously, Logan said, “I’m really not in a time of need.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, shoving his black gym bag at him. “Let’s go.”
Dempsey’s Gym was like nothing I’d ever smelled before. Even Maya cringed when we walked into the old warehouse lined with sweaty men punching heavy bags. I’m not a fan of paisley wallpaper, but they could have covered up the wet spots on the cement walls. In several areas near the windows, copper streaks fell like weeping pennies.
“This place is lethal,” Maya shrieked, holding her hands over her nose and mouth.
“We won’t be long,” Logan said, tossing his black bag down at the front desk. He removed his membership card and showed it to a gritty old buzzard with a missing iris.
“Hey kiddo, Joey’s lookin’ for ya,” said the man, whose smile revealed several missing teeth. “Says he’s gonna wipe the floor with you today.”
“Now you listen here,” I shot, my mothering instinct faster than my good sense. “You tell this Joey person that he will come nowhere near my son with—”
“Settle, Mom,” Logan said, pulling my shirt from the back. Oh, I hadn’t realized I was leaning quite so far across the counter. “Joey’s my trainer.”
“Hey, there you are,” said a short Italian-looking guy with slick black hair and Dempsey’s shorts. Giving me the once-over, Joey asked, “Where’s Pops?”
“Why hello,” Maya answered. “I’m Logan’s cool and supportive sister. This is our mother, Lisa Taylor.” She rubbed her lips together to smudge the gloss.
Still mentally staggering from my quick shift from rage to embarrassment, I simply nodded and put out my hand for him to shake. As we all walked inside, we saw an enormous ring bordered with thick rope, lit by a single bulb overhead. When Joey and Logan had their backs to us, Maya dug through her purse for her phone and began texting.
I sat on a prehistoric metal fold-up chair set a few feet back from the ring. I watched Joey and Logan do what looked like dance moves around the ring. Logan’s feet sped right over left, then left over right, then back and forth like he was skiing. Maybe I’d been wrong about boxing after all.
“You ready for a whoopin’?” Joey asked.
Without looking up from her phone, Maya reached up and grabbed my arm. “Easy, Champ.”
Moments later, I was watching my son and Joey, whom I will now refer to as the Miracle Worker, sparring confidently. Joey never actually hit Logan, but my son was allowed to wail away at him. There was something cathartic about watching Logan’s fist smack into Joey’s flesh. Soon, my elbows were on my knees as I watched intently. Even Maya was enraptured, and her eyes weren’t always on Joey either. A few guys stood watching and spoke to Logan as if they knew him.
“That’s it, kid,” said a mountain of flesh.
“You’re getting’ it,” another encouraged.
The Miracle Worker started getting on my nerves, though, when he began side-stepping to avoid Logan’s hits. “Come on,” Joey said. “Anticipate, anticipate.” Every time he did this, Logan would punch dead space and stumble forward clumsily. “Anticipate, man. Where’m I goin’?”
I’m certain that Joey was not anticipating me climbing into the ring, jumping on his back and pulling his thick head of hair, so I refrained. But I definitely would have a word with Joey about how in life no one can really predict the future, so it was unfair to expect my son to do so in the ring. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t.
“Come on, baby, don’t let him mess wi
th you,” said another guy hanging on the ropes.
“Give ’em hell, Logan,” a fourth said, joining the others.
What the heck. “Get him, Logan!” I shouted from deep in my gut.
Even Maya stood up to cheer. “You’re awesome, Joey!”
Finally, Logan gave them all what they’d been hungry for. When Joey stepped to the side, Logan mirrored his move exactly and swung, not at air this time, but at Joey’s face. Uh-oh, I don’t think Logan was supposed to hit his face.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” Logan exclaimed as his held his gloves beside his open mouth like the kid in Home Alone.
Joey moved his hand from his nose, which was spouting a fair amount of blood. “Oh no,” Maya whispered. “That beautiful face.”
“It’s okay, it’s all right, man,” Joey said, comforting Logan. A guy from the side tossed a towel into the ring for Joey’s nose. Another said he’d run to get an ice pack.
“Nah,” Joey dismissed. “I got it.” He climbed through the ropes and looked back at Logan. “Good job, kid. You got me this round.”
The guys cheered as my scrawny son stood in the center of the ring, dumbfounded. Logan flashed the uneven smile he’d inherited from Jason, placed a single red glove on his lips, and blew a kiss at me.
I sat in my garage, getting ready to glue 500 vinyl records together to make an end table, when Ellie and Val slowed their car and began jotting notes. After four months in Utopia — and a record eleven code violations — it occurred to me that there might not be an actual punishment for these infractions.
I was still in the garage when Maya returned home from school, which explained the growling in my stomach. She tossed down her backpack and sat next to me. “Where’s your brother?” I asked.
“Detention,” Maya replied. “Gum chewing during study hall.”
Brownie Points Page 10
