The Daredevils, page 9
Dad cleaned up his mess and joined us. “Must be you weren’t kidding when you said rebellious teenager,” he whispered to me after taking his seat.
I couldn’t help it. I smirked.
Dad placed his mug on the table and looked at my brother. “Well, what did you do?”
“Cut my hair off,” Waylon replied.
Good safe answer, I thought.
Dad made a face. “I can see that. What I’m wondering is why.”
Waylon shrugged. “It was time.”
Ooh, good one, I cheered.
Dad made another face. “And what made you decide that?”
Ugh, tough follow-up question.
Waylon shrugged again.
Yes! Perfect non-answer answer!
“I’m not sure that answer is going to satisfy your mother,” Dad replied.
True.
Another shoulder shrug from Waylon. Yikes, he really was playing rebellious teenager this morning.
“I get the feeling you two are up to something,” Dad said. “I suggest you consider filling me in so I can help with Mom. If I don’t have anything to tell her, then I can’t promise I’ll be able to keep her out of your hair—even your short hair,” he added, and snickered.
Ugh. Leave it to Dad to come up with a great counterargument.
“You can’t let her get involved,” Waylon pleaded.
Dad was the one to shrug now. “Then you’d better start talking.”
Careful. Minimal information, I urged.
“I sacrificed my hair as an offering to the Forest Spirits,” Waylon blurted.
My shoulders sagged. So much for careful, I thought. Apparently, we’re trying brutally honest instead.
Dad blinked.
“Loretta sacrificed Blankie,” Waylon blurted next, throwing me under the bus.
And there went any hope for minimal information. Suddenly, my brother was suffering from a case of diarrhea of the mouth. I glared at him.
“Okay,” my father said after taking a second to mull that over. “I don’t need to mention Blankie to Mom unless she asks.”
Thank you. At least he was smarter than my stupid brother.
“But I’m not sure telling her to relax because your hair was an offering to the Forest Spirits is the best approach either. You’d better give me more.”
Waylon and I looked at each other. Do we tell him about the box or not? That was the question.
My brother opened his mouth, but before he spilled everything, I cut him off. “Not a word,” I ordered, silencing him.
I turned to Dad and gave him the best explanation I could think of, falling back on The Goonies for help. Ever see it? You need to. Such a great movie! Anyways, I turned to him and said, “You know how in The Goonies they find a treasure map and then go on a big hunt trying to find One-Eyed Willy’s lost riches?”
Dad nodded and smiled. He loved that movie.
“Well, we found something similar. Not a treasure map, more like directions to a game.” (Oh, that was good. Calling it a game makes it sound harmless.) “It’s an adventure game, and making a sacrifice was the first task on our quest,” I explained.
“And what’s next?” he asked.
Again, my brother opened his mouth, but I beat him to it. “We can’t tell you.” I didn’t know if that was going to fly, still, I had to give it a try.
“I’m not sure I like that answer,” Dad said.
“All I can say is that we are being safe and everything is legal,” I replied.
“Well, that’s a relief,” he scoffed.
“If the worst thing that happens is Waylon loses his ponytail, then Mom should be happy, not upset,” I reasoned.
Dad grinned. “Now that’s a great point,” he said, sounding proud of my debate skills. “I think that’s what I’ll tell your mother.”
He picked up his mug and sipped his coffee. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe we were going to get off the hook—not!
After another sip, he set his mug back down. “So I’m guessing my missing ladder has something to do with your adventures.”
I almost spit my Cheerios across the table. Waylon and I glanced at each other.
“Yes, I noticed. A boomer wasn’t born last night,” he teased.
“We’ll return it when we’re done,” I promised.
“I know you will. I’m not worried about the ladder, but I am still a little worried about my two adventurers, so here’s what I need from you. I need you to promise me that if you get into any kind of trouble, that if you need any help whatsoever, you’ll come to me right away.”
Waylon and I nodded. That sounded fair. “Promise,” we said.
Dad’s watch beeped. “My interview. I almost forgot.”
Thank goodness, I thought. Maybe the Forest Spirits are helping?
Dad added a splash of cream to his cup and refilled his coffee. On his way out of the kitchen, he gave us his famous parting words: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
What was that even supposed to mean? I shook my head.
“Now what?” I said to Waylon.
“Now I’m going back to bed. I need to rest up before my rite of passage.”
“What?!” I shrieked. “You’ve already got that planned too?”
“No, but I’m starting to think about it. The Forest Spirits will make it clear soon enough, and when they do, I want to be ready.”
My brother placed his bowl in the sink and left. I took care of putting away the cereal and loading the dishwasher. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Waylon would conjure up for his rite of passage, but I had no doubt it was going to be every bit as daring as our sacrifices. I just hoped the spirits took their time in revealing it to him. I needed a break after last night. In the meantime, more sleep did sound good—and maybe a movie. The Goonies seemed like a good pick.
As promised, Dad took care of talking to Mom about my hair before she saw it. I wasn’t sure what he did and didn’t tell her, but he did a good job because she didn’t pepper me with questions. And that was a relief because Loretta had made it very clear I was not to tell Mom anything. How’re you supposed to answer questions without telling anything? I’d tried that with Dad and did okay at first, but then I cracked.
“Waylon, I just want to say that I’m a big fan of the new haircut,” Mom told me at dinner that night.
“Me too,” my sister agreed.
“I’ll miss the Willie Nelson resemblance,” Dad admitted, “but now you’re sporting my handsomeness.”
“Oh, brother,” Loretta groaned.
“So, Mr. Handsome, did you want to thank me for hiring that landscape crew yet?” Mom asked. “They did a great job on the yard again today.”
“Mmm,” Dad moaned. He still hadn’t managed to get his mower up and running.
At the mention of the landscape crew, I glanced at Loretta to gauge her reaction. She remained disinterested. Luckily, my sister had been so engrossed in her movie when the guys showed up earlier that she never bothered looking out her window. I wasn’t about to tell her who I’d seen running the weed eater because then she would’ve gone berserk. She would just need to discover for herself that Leon Hurd was mowing our lawn these days.
“And how about the interview? How did that go?” Mom asked next. Rather than grilling me like I’d feared, she was putting Dad on the spot. I felt sorry for him, but it was better him than me.
“I didn’t like her,” Dad replied.
“What? Why not?”
He hesitated.
“Why not?” Mom pressed.
Dad sighed. “Because she didn’t appreciate my country music. First thing she did was make a remark about how listening to Hank Williams could be considered cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Ha!” Loretta laughed.
“So you didn’t hire her?” Mom asked.
“No, I didn’t hire her!” Dad exclaimed. “I cut the interview short. I can’t be expected to work with someone who speaks such blasphemy.”
Mom shook her head. “Fine,” she huffed. “But you’re going to schedule more interviews because you’re getting an assistant.”
Dad didn’t say anything to that. Mom had put her foot down and that was it.
Landscape crews and interviews aside, I was just relieved to make it through dinner without my hair consuming the entire conversation. Mom, Dad, and Loretta all seemed to like my new look, and I was happy to say thank you and leave it at that. Unfortunately, not everyone else was so kind when they saw me tailless.
P.E. Bubba had plenty to say about my new look when he saw me at camp on Tuesday. I was walking with Penelope on our way to the robotics building when we crossed paths with him.
“ ’Bout time you cut that hippie hair,” he said. “Too bad you don’t look any tougher without it. But there’s nothing you can do about that since you got stuck with your father’s wimp genes.”
He guffawed at his own dumb joke and then continued on his way. Loretta would’ve lost it if she’d heard that, but I wasn’t her—and neither was Penelope.
“He’d make a good duck, don’t you think? He waddles instead of walks,” she said.
I grinned. “A duck with hemorrhoids,” I replied.
“Eww,” she groaned, and grimaced.
I laughed.
“Sorry he’s mean to you,” she said after we started walking again.
“It’s okay. I don’t let it bother me.”
“I know how it feels. Kids used to pick on me all the time. I’ll admit, I didn’t do myself any favors by being a know-it-all and tattletale when I was younger, and add to that the fact that I’m small and have different interests than most, and let the teasing begin.”
I remembered her comment at the library about animals not being judgmental like people. “I’m small too,” I said. “And what different interests?”
“How many second and third graders do you know who prefer opera and are vegetarian? And I am the only girl at robotics camp, in case you didn’t notice.”
I stopped on the steps in front of the robotics building. “I noticed, and I think that’s cool,” I replied. “And I’m not vegetarian, but I think that’s cool too. And I’m stuck listening to my father’s old-time country music, so opera sounds good to me.”
She giggled. “Thanks.”
“But you said used to. Kids used to pick on you. What changed?”
She leaned on the stair railing. “Used to,” she repeated, “until I did a board-breaking demonstration at our school talent show. I’m still not sure if it was my kicks and punches or the way I screamed Hi-ya that scared my tormenters most, but they started leaving me alone after that.”
My eyes got big. “So you think I should break boards in front of P.E.?”
“Do you know karate or tae kwon do?” she asked, sounding excited about the possibility.
“No.”
She giggled again. “That’s okay. I’ve been thinking about how we can teach him a lesson and I think I’ve got it. Even if his bullying doesn’t bother you, it bothers me. We owe him for getting you wet.”
My eyes got bigger. “You want to—”
“Set a trap,” she said.
“I love traps!” I exclaimed.
“Shhh!” She brought her finger to her lips and looked around. “So do I,” she whispered, “especially really sneaky ones.”
I swallowed. “What did you have in mind?”
“The car catcher.”
Two things happened right then: (1) I got hit with the idea for my rite of passage, and (2) even though I had no clue what the car catcher was, I knew Penelope was the coolest girl I’d ever met. (Please don’t tell Loretta I said that. She might get upset. But she’s my sister, so she didn’t really count anyways.)
Penelope climbed the last few steps and then paused outside the entrance. “Want to meet at the library tomorrow to go over the plan?”
“Sure,” I said, pulling the door open for us.
“Great. I’ll be there at eleven o’clock. And for what it’s worth, I like your new haircut. It was a worthy sacrifice.”
I grinned and then followed her inside.
That was it. All of a sudden, I was sneaking out at night without my parents knowing, and now I was sneaking off without Loretta. With that many risks, something was bound to go bad—but that wasn’t stopping me.
Forget P.E. Bubba and Leon Hurd; it was Waylon who I had to keep an eye on. I saw him talking to that girl again after camp, which I didn’t like one bit, but the real kicker was when he disappeared again on Wednesday.
I went to ask Dad if he knew where Waylon had gone, but my father was in the middle of his second interview, and he had one cardinal rule: Unless there’s a fire or someone is dying, NEVER interrupt him when he’s with someone in his office. So that left me with no choice but to investigate the matter on my own. The last time my brother had pulled this stunt, he claimed he’d been at the library, so I decided to start there.
I shoved my feet in my sneakers and grabbed my water bottle and bike helmet, and then I set out for Stevens Library. Without Waylon slowing me down, I made it there faster than normal. I rounded the corner and skidded to a stop. My brother’s bike was parked in the rack—next to the one with ribbons dangling off the handle grips.
I took my helmet off and wiped my brow. Then I leaned my bike against the wall, away from the one with ribbons, and walked around to the back of the building. If Waylon was here with that girl, then it was likely they’d be in the upstairs section where there were tables and computers and talking was allowed. I chose to enter through the lower level so that I had a better chance of sneaking up on them.
As I neared the top of the stairs, I began scanning the area, but I didn’t see them anywhere. That didn’t mean they weren’t here, only that they were probably on the other side of the room. I hurried from the top step to the nearest stacks and hid among the books. From there, I moved to the end of the row and peeked around the corner.
My heart dropped. There really isn’t any other way to describe what I felt. It actually hurt. Waylon was sitting with that girl at the chess table, a big smile on his face. If any other person in the world had betrayed me like that, you can bet I would’ve marched right over and punched his daylights out—but this was my brother, my twin brother, who’d been by my side since the beginning. I just turned around and left.
I got back on my bike and started for home. The ride to the library might’ve been easy, but my pedals weren’t moving very fast now. They felt heavy. The opposite of how anger can give you a surge of adrenaline and power your muscles, having my heart stomped had completely zapped my strength.
When I made it home, I dumped my bike in the garage and went straight to my room. I thought about waiting for Waylon and confronting him like I did the last time he’d disappeared on me—but I didn’t. If I put my brother in that position, I knew he’d just lie to me more, and I’d had enough for one day.
I stayed in my room until my parents called me for dinner. Mom and Dad did most of the talking after we sat down, which was fine by me. Mom was eager to hear about Dad’s interview—until she learned it didn’t go well. Again. This time it was because the woman seemed to be an obsessive nose picker. The thought of her touching his files after digging for gold was more than he could handle.
“She just kept going back for more,” Dad said. “She couldn’t stop. It was disgusting.”
Needless to say, it was a short interview. And it was a short dinner for me. I told my parents I wasn’t feeling well—which was more or less the truth—and asked to be excused.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to fix what I was feeling. What was I supposed to do? Beat my brother up? Beat that girl up? Now there was a thought. Sadly, I knew that wouldn’t make everything better. In fact, it would probably only make everything worse.
I went to bed early, hoping the Forest Spirits would help me out—but I should’ve known better. I’d had too many chats with my father. A person can only hold on to hurt for so long before it begins its metamorphosis, growing and changing into anger—deep bottled-up anger that eventually explodes.
I stayed home from camp on Thursday after telling my parents I still wasn’t feeling well. Mom didn’t question me. Faking my way out of something wasn’t my style, though I did enjoy Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Ever see that movie? Classic. I just didn’t want to catch my brother with that girl again. Catch them leaning their heads close together and talking and laughing. Not so soon.
The one benefit to being fake sick was that I got to stay in bed with my laptop and watch movies all day long. Contracts didn’t apply when you were under the weather. I watched the first three Jurassic Parks. I wanted something that I’d already seen and knew the ending to. I missed Blankie, but the movies helped me forget things for a while—until Waylon got home. After grabbing a snack, my brother came into my room to check on me. Nice of him, but that wasn’t going to make me forget.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
I sat up. “Okay.”
“You look fine.”
“What do you know?!” I shot back. “Maybe I needed a personal day.”
His face scrunched. He took a bite of his snack, a celery stalk slathered with hummus and topped with raisins, then offered me a taste.
“Gross!” I replied. “Since when do you eat that stuff?”
He shrugged. “Thought I’d try a healthy option.”
“Weird.”
“It’s not weird,” he snapped, getting agitated.
Now that was weird. Waylon never got mad. Why was he being so touchy about celery?
