The daredevils, p.3
The Daredevils, page 3
I shrugged. “Okay.” It sounded like more Mr. Miyagi work, so I was all for it.
I stepped out of the way and let him go at it all over again. Waylon chopped and chopped, and I organized the stakes. After another hour of hatchet work and biceps building, it was on to the next step. I was smart and assumed the role of handing the stakes to my brother so that he could do the physical labor of pounding them into the ground.
When all was said and done, Waylon had built a hideout way better than anything I had imagined. It was a legit structure that was rock-solid sturdy.
My brother stood admiring his creation while massaging his forearms and rubbing at the blisters on his hands. Nothing he had ever constructed was better.
I stood back smiling at my own brilliance. If I could keep Waylon doing stuff like this all summer, then he just might be ready for Leon Hurd come school—after his blisters healed, of course. He was beginning to whine like a baby about those now.
“Great work today, young Jedi,” I said, giving my brother props. “Next time we’ll work on camouflaging the fortress and surroundings to keep it hidden from the dark side.”
“Fortress,” Waylon mused. “I like that. You hear that, Forest Spirits?! I made a fortress!” he yelled, raising his arms in victory.
I laughed. “C’mon. Let’s go. It’s almost dinnertime, and I’m hungry.”
We gathered our packs and left the woods, Waylon proud and me feeling good about the day’s training—but neither of us having any idea of what was to come.
Day two of summer vacation began same as day one, with breakfast. Only difference was Mom got to join us at the table because her hours started later on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
“Good morning,” the boomers said, greeting Waylon and me when we arrived on the scene. We said good morning back, then sat down and began making our plates. Dad had whipped up a nice spread of eggs and bacon, along with some fresh fruit.
“Who’s on your schedule today?” Waylon asked Mom. My brother liked to hear about her different animal patients.
“First up is Diesel,” she said. “He’s due for his annual checkup. Diesel’s a boxer, a nice dog, but he gets upset the moment he lays eyes on me, probably because I only ever see him when he needs his shots.”
“Can’t blame him, then,” Dad said.
“No, you can’t,” Mom agreed. “I’ll have to put a muzzle on him so that I don’t get bit, but that’s okay. I’ll give him a few treats when we’re done, and then we’ll be back to being friends.”
I grinned.
“Who else?” Waylon asked, reaching for more bacon.
“Well, after Diesel I have an appointment with Chief. He’s also due for his shots. I won’t need a muzzle for him, but I will need earplugs. He’s a tiny dog, and as soon as I poke him with my needle, he’ll scream loud enough to break glass. To hear him, you’d think I was sawing his leg off. He’s a sweetheart, but a major drama queen.”
“And his name’s Chief,” Waylon said, cracking up. “That’s the best!”
I was laughing too. That was funny.
“How about you, honey?” Mom said to Dad. “What’s on your schedule? Posting your job opening for an assistant?”
Dad frowned.
“That sounds like a great idea,” I agreed. (Mom and I made a good team.)
Dad aimed his frown in my direction after I said that. I smiled.
“I’ll get to it when I can,” he told us.
“Hopefully, that’s soon,” Mom replied. “Like, today.”
* * *
—
After finishing breakfast and cleaning up, Waylon and I chilled in our rooms. His hands weren’t ready for another outing in the woods and I didn’t have my second Mr. Miyagi exercise planned, so we stayed away from the fortress. Instead, we hopped on our bikes at lunchtime and made the trip to Coop’s Scoops, the best ice cream stand in the county, maybe even the whole state. Besides the creamiest homemade ice cream, they also had a Putt-Putt course, an arcade, and a bunch of picnic tables for outdoor seating.
As expected, it was busy when we got there. Waylon and I waited in line, debating what flavor to get. It was always an easy choice for Dad. He’d pick butter pecan because he knew he wouldn’t have to share; nobody else in our family liked that old-person yuck. Boomer! Mom liked to keep it simple. She’d go with their orange-vanilla twist. That was a good choice, but with all the flavors they offered, to pick that every time—another boomer move.
Waylon finally decided on the mint Oreo when we got to the window, but I was still hemming and hawing. Did I want the peanut butter or Heavenly Heath? Thankfully, the experienced scooper saw me struggling and asked me what flavors I was considering.
“Go with the peanut butter,” he told me. “It’s a great batch today.”
So that was what I did. I could hardly wait to taste it. After paying, I grabbed a handful of napkins and turned around to find where Waylon had gone to sit.
Instead of my brother, the first thing I glimpsed was the gleaming red sports car parked with its top down and at a diagonal, taking up two spots in a lot that didn’t have enough spaces to begin with. That car was P.E. Bubba’s baby—and it was a sight that instantly made anger rise inside me.
The best thing about leaving sixth grade and the elementary school behind was finally getting to say good riddance to that man. Waylon and I would never get stuck with P.E. Bubba again. The guy was the worst of the worst, but I’ll admit, his name was a good fit. His first name was actually Paulie and his middle initial was E, so he went by P.E., which was perfect for a gym teacher. I also happen to think anyone with the name Bubba should have a belly to match, and P.E. had a winner. I was surprised he could squeeze it behind the steering wheel of his precious sports car. But I could deal with his big belly, it was the stuff you couldn’t see that made him despicable.
I let out a low growl and scanned the line behind me, searching for our former gym teacher. You couldn’t miss him and his belly—unless you were too busy licking your ice cream cone. Waylon was oblivious to the danger, and there was no time for me to do anything. P.E. bent down to make it look like he was tying his shoe, then stood up and knocked into Waylon’s arm just as my brother was walking by. Waylon’s ice cream went flying and landed in the dirt.
“Oh, sorry about that,” P.E. said. “I didn’t see you there.”
That was classic P.E. Bubba. He was the sneaky kind of mean that no one else ever saw or that he could claim was an accident when it wasn’t, stuff like stepping on your foot or blowing the whistle in your ear—or knocking your ice cream to the ground. The man hated Waylon and me because he hated our dad. Why? Long story short, P.E. had wanted my mom as his girlfriend back in high school, but Dad got her. (More on that later.) Well, guess what? I couldn’t stand him either, and I wasn’t about to let him get away with bullying Waylon—because what was my rule? Don’t mess with my brother.
I stormed in his direction, but before I got to even the score, Waylon stopped me. “Loretta, let’s go,” he urged. “P.E.’s an adult and a teacher. You can’t beat him up.”
“Doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t get away with that,” I snarled.
“Another time,” Waylon pleaded. “Let’s go.”
I hated to admit it, but my brother was right. Assaulting a grown-up in broad daylight probably wasn’t a good idea, though a couple of hard kicks to the shins did seem appropriate.
We hopped on our bikes, and I looked back one last time as we were leaving. It seemed no one else cared or had even noticed what just happened—but then who did I spot wearing an orange T-shirt with a lawn mower logo on the front, none other than Leon Hurd. He was paying attention. He stood near the picnic tables, staring at me, weed eater in his hands and covered in dirt and sweat. Apparently, Leon was on the landscape crew taking care of Coop’s Scoops.
I glared back at him.
Then as Waylon and I pedaled by P.E.’s fancy sports car, the one with its top down, I dropped my ice cream cone on the driver’s seat. I didn’t even get to enjoy one lick from it—and I didn’t care if Leon Hurd was still watching.
As much as I wanted to get back to the fortress on Wednesday, my blisters still weren’t ready. I wasn’t sure if Loretta was going to be okay with that, but she didn’t have a choice because Dad presented his plans for us at breakfast.
“Okay, team, you’ve had your fun, so today is a work day.”
If he knew about our run-in with P.E. Bubba, he might’ve reconsidered that statement, but Loretta made me agree not to tell Mom and Dad about our struggles with P.E. a long time ago. My sister liked to handle things on her own. What she didn’t like was what Dad had just said.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means you’re going to mow the lawn while I send your brother on an errand to Mimi’s Market,” Dad explained.
Here it was—the beginning of what Dad and I had talked about. Turns out, he wanted the same thing I did—for me to show Loretta that I could take care of myself and didn’t always need her by my side. (Great minds think alike.) By doing so, he and Mom hoped that would also help my sister get a handle on her temper. I wasn’t overly optimistic about that. Just look at what almost happened at Coop’s Scoops the day before. I did like the summer camp part of Mom and Dad’s plan, though.
“Why can’t I go with Waylon and you mow the lawn?” Loretta pushed back.
Dad was ready. “Because I have too many appointments and other tasks on my plate—such as posting that job opening you and your mother keep harassing me about—so I need your help. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you like I always do.”
“I want a raise.”
Man, Loretta wasn’t only tough with her fists, she was a hard-nosed negotiator too.
“How much?” Dad asked.
“It’s twenty bucks for the job. Call it inflation.”
“Deal,” Dad said, winking at me.
She could’ve demanded twice that, and he would’ve agreed because executing our plan was that important.
The three of us cleaned up after finishing breakfast, and then Dad met Loretta in the garage with the mower. I jumped on my bike and got out of there before my sister changed her mind and insisted on coming with me.
When I reached Mimi’s, I parked my bike in the rack on the side of the store and went inside. The only item on my list was a loaf of Italian bread to go along with the pasta we were having for dinner. That was easy.
I made my way to the back by the deli counter where they kept the bread and rolls—Mimi’s made the best sandwiches—and found what I came for. Then I crossed to the other side of the store, near the pharmacist’s station, where they had a magazine section. I browsed their selection and found the latest copy of Scout Life. I thumbed through it, skimming a few of the articles. It was possible I’d been reading longer than I realized but not long enough to explain Loretta tapping me on the shoulder.
“You’re done mowing already?” I said, surprised.
“The mower died after five minutes. The dumb thing’s been giving Dad trouble, but he hasn’t bothered getting it serviced. It finally quit on him, so now he’s got to find a repair shop.”
“I bet that made him happy.”
Loretta scoffed. “You kidding, Dad never gets mad.”
I grinned. That was true, though sometimes I wondered if he really did get mad, maybe a little, but held it in because he was trying to set a good example for my sister.
“Did you get paid at least?” I asked her.
“Heck yeah,” she said, showing off her cash. “I was still on the clock.”
I snatched the twenty from her hand. “Good, then you can buy me this magazine.”
“Ugh,” she huffed, following me as we weaved our way to the front of the store, where Daisy was working the lone register. (When you live in a small town, you get to know the people who work in the market on a regular basis. Plus, she also wore a name tag on her shirt.)
There was one woman in line ahead of us. I’m not a big people watcher, but I noticed this lady. She was wearing a bathrobe and dark sunglasses. She had her hair pulled back, but even I could tell it hadn’t been brushed in a while. After paying for her things, she muttered a “thank you” and left in a hurry.
“Poor woman. She always looks a wreck,” Daisy said as I stepped up to the counter.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“Not sure. She comes here every so often, mostly to pick up stuff at the pharmacy. Is this it for you, just the bread and magazine?”
I nodded and gave her the money.
Daisy rang up my order and leaned closer when handing me my change. “I do know she lives in Old Lady Simpson’s place,” she whispered. “I saw the address on her pharmacy package the last time she was here.”
My eyes bugged. “Thanks,” I croaked.
Loretta nudged me forward. “C’mon, let’s go,” she urged.
I waited until we got outside but couldn’t keep it in after that. “Did you hear what Daisy said?” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, I heard,” Loretta replied. “And keep your voice down.”
“She said that woman lives at Old Lady Simpson’s. That house is supposed to be haunted.”
“I know. Daisy was obviously pulling your leg.”
“You think so?”
“I don’t know,” Loretta admitted. “That woman sure was scary-looking enough to live there.”
“Creepy,” I said.
We hopped on our bikes and started on our way, Loretta leading the charge because she was a stronger biker than me. Instead of going straight home, she decided we should swing by Coop’s Scoops since we didn’t get to enjoy our ice creams the day before and because she had the money from not mowing the lawn. I wasn’t sure if I was doing a good job of showing her that I was capable on my own, but I was definitely in favor of the pit stop.
“What do you two have planned for today?” Mom asked Waylon and me the next morning at breakfast. (It was Thursday, so she was enjoying her coffee and bagel with us.)
The only response we had for her were a couple of shoulder shrugs. I wish I had a better answer than that—not that I would’ve told her—but I’d been racking my brain since our first trip into the woods and still hadn’t come up with anything for Waylon’s next training exercise. Camouflaging our fortress wasn’t going to be enough on its own. How did Mr. Miyagi do it?
“Those blisters are looking better now,” Dad said, noting Waylon’s hands. That was what happened when your father was a shrink. He was trained to make astute observations and pick up on subtle details. I was actually surprised he hadn’t said anything sooner. “So maybe another day exploring the forest,” he suggested.
Waylon and I exchanged a glance. We’d agreed not to say anything about the fortress. It was our secret hideout.
Mom and Dad, the opposing team, exchanged their own glance. They were onto us.
“What do you have planned?” I asked Mom, hoping to shift the spotlight to her.
“I have a date with Buster, the golden retriever who got into a tussle with a porcupine—and lost,” she said, letting us off the hook—for now. “I had to remove over a dozen quills from his face and paws yesterday. Poor guy was in some rough shape.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Waylon asked, genuinely concerned.
“I think so, as long as his wounds don’t become infected. He’ll be sore and only eating soft foods for a while, but better he learned his lesson from a porcupine than that bobcat we’ve been hearing about.”
“Bobcat?” Waylon repeated, perking up.
“Yes,” Mom confirmed. “There have been at least three different sightings, but don’t worry, it’s not near us. At least not yet.”
“Wow,” Waylon muttered.
Who was she kidding? My brother wasn’t worried, he was fascinated. I could read his mind. He didn’t have any buffalo to hunt from the Wild West days, so a bobcat could be the next best thing. Getting Waylon ready for middle school was going to be hard enough; I was not encouraging any lunatic bobcat hunt.
“How about you, Dad?” I asked, getting us off that subject. “Do you have a date with cleaning your office, I hope.”
Mom laughed.
“Funny,” he replied. “I have a few patients to see and phone calls to make, but I save the dates for my beautiful wife.” He strode over and planted a big wet one on Mom’s lips.
“Gross!” I groaned, shielding my eyes. “Too much PDA!”
“How do you think we were made?” Waylon said, which only made it worse.
“Stop!” I yelled. “I don’t want to think about that.”
Mom and Dad laughed. What can I say, they were boomers and lovebirds—ugh! Their morning love affair didn’t help me focus and devise a training plan, I can tell you that. I had hoped something would come to me before we finished breakfast and went about our days, but that didn’t happen. In fact, by the time Waylon and I were on our way to the woods, the only idea I’d come up with was trying to trick him into carrying a couple of large rocks to our new hideout so that we had a place to sit. I was no Mr. Miyagi.
“So, young Jedi, what’s the plan for hiding our fortress?” I asked him after we’d reached the lean-to. Maybe I’d figure out what to do next while working on this first task? Or maybe my brother had more planned than I realized? After all, his brainiac idea had led to the first great day of training.
“First, we need to—”
He stopped short. “Need to what?” I said.
“Shhh!”
“Don’t shush me,” I snapped.
“Shhh! Listen,” he urged.
