I'm So Sure (23 page)
Thirty minutes later the bus chugs to a stop at the edge of the elementary school.
“Have a joyous day, sweeties!” The driver opens the door and everyone trickles out.
Shoot. That was a total—wait a minute.
I press my nose to the grimy window and see three kids standing there, arms crossed, scowls in place. They’re waiting for someone. I look up the aisle in time to see Robbie file out, his face pasty white.
“Let’s go.” I bump Ruthie with my hip and nudge her out.
She cracks her knuckles, then her neck. “Lead the way. I got your back.”
I slide past her and down the steps. “No weapons, Ruthie. I want to talk to some kids.
Not
get arrested.” I hear her sigh.
Robbie walks down the sidewalk toward the school, his backpack hanging low. He doesn’t make eye contact with the three boys, just keeps going.
“You owe me money, Red.”
The kids look like they might be all of ten. I immediately have the urge to smash their faces in now and ask questions later.
“Red, I’m talking to you. You got my money?”
Robbie sidesteps one, only to run into another. A tall brown-headed kid grabs him by the shoulders. I put my arm on Ruthie to hold her back.
“I want your lunch money, and I want it now.”
Robbie stares at the grass. “I—I don’t have it. I brought my lunch again.”
The kid gives him a small shove. “That’s not good enough.”
“Maybe you can fly away and get it,” another chides. The three laugh heartily as they circle in on Robbie.
“I warned you what would happen if you came to school without my money again.”
“And what is it that will happen?” I step forward.
The kid doesn’t release Robbie. He looks at me, then Ruthie.
228“Who wants to know?”
“We do.” I smile. “I’m Mary Cline.” I flash my driver’s license. “I’m with playground security. This here is my partner—”
“Drew Barrymore.” Ruthie flexes.
“Right. And Drew and I have gotten quite a few complaints about a group of boys who are such sissies they have to pick on little kids instead of anyone their own size. Would you happen to know where I could find those boys?”
“No.” A snot-nosed blond in a flannel shirt spits on the ground. “Why don’t you go look for ’em?”
Ruthie and I step closer. I glance at Robbie, who stands there motionless, his mouth a perfect oval.
“Drew Barrymore, I think our search is over, don’t you?”
She pops her knuckles again. “I think we’ve found our sissy boys. Shame too. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to get the police involved.”
“Wait a minute!” I point to Robbie. “Isn’t that the wrestler’s son?”
“I think it is, Martha.”
I cough. “
Mary
.”
“It is indeed, Mary. I heard that Captain Iron Jack is as mean in real life as he is in the ring. Do you remember what happened to the last bunch who were picking on his kid?”
I whistle low. “Those girls were never heard from again.”
I continue to ignore the boys and move closer to Robbie. “Young man, I’m going to have to ask you
not
to do your kung-fu moves on
them. I believe we were present for your last tussle, and it took us two weeks to scrape the blood off the sidewalk.”
Ruthie shakes her pink head. “Totally ruined the hopscotch area.”
“This kid don’t know how to fight,” Blondie says.
Ruthie and I both chuckle.
“Why do you think we’re here?” I ask. “They only alert us when something big’s going down. And word on the street was that Robbie here was getting ready to administer some pain.”
Brown hair snorts. “Whatever.” But his voice isn’t quite as strong this time.
“Robbie,” Ruthie says. “I would be honored if you would show me your famous dancing tiger block.”
Robbie just stares.
“No, no, we can’t ask that of him. It’s too much.” Yikes. What have we gotten into?
“Maybe the peaceful turtle block?” Ruthie does not feel my eyes lasering into her and keeps going. “Or the fiery rat slam. That’s a good one.”
The boys stare for a moment before dissolving into whoops of laughter. Again.
Robbie lifts wounded eyes to me.
“I would be honored, Robbie, if you would show them your moves on me. I can take the pain.” I look at him hard. “Like
now
.” I give the smallest of nods.
“I’m not sure . . .” his small voice whispers.
“What a baby.”
Come on, Robbie. Read my deceptive, devious mind and work with me!
“Listen, puke-face, we’ve wasted enough time,” pops the tall one. “Double the money tomorrow or we’ll take it out on your face.”
“
Hiiiiiii-yay
!” Robbie squats into some crazy stance, his green eyes intense on mine. With well-timed grunts, he moves into a series of poses, each one crisp and . . . very believable. This guy has been watching a
lot
of kung fu.
Again I give just a hint of a nod. With a warrior’s yell, Robbie charges, his left foot airborne. I take it right in the gut.
“Oomph!” My coat pads the blow, but not before my eyes cross. Purposely I stumble backward groaning with pain. He throws a few
Kung Fu Panda
punches to my side, and I collapse on the ground moaning.
Robbie jumps over my thrashing body. He looms over my face, holds up chopper hands, and I catch his wink.
“
Heeee-yah
!” Pulling a wrestling move from his repertoire, Robbie brings down a hand, and a centimeter before impact, I jerk away as if hit. I wail in agony and look at the boys through slit eyes. It’s quite possible they’re buying it. At least they’re not laughing anymore.
“Oh yeah?” Ruthie stomps forward and roars. “You think you can take me?” She kicks a perfect Tae Bo roundhouse. I see Robbie hesitate . . . then run right for her gut. “Feng shui!” she yells as he attacks.
Robbie lands before her in a cartwheel, pivots, then jabs both elbows into her stomach.
“Aughh!” Ruthie yells. She taps her stomach, sending him a signal. “Hit me again, short one. I can take it.”
He clotheslines her neck, and her head bobs roughly to the
right. Ouch. That one was real. She motions to her stomach again—just a small movement.
Robbie faces out toward the boys, then goat kicks Ruthie with everything he’s got.
She cries sharply and falls, but not before a red stain oozes through her shirt.
“She’s bleeding!” Brown hair boy yells.
“He killed her!” From thug number three.
Robbie freezes as if someone pushed pause on his remote. His eyes are bigger than the tire swings on the playground. His little hands shake.
“We’re not worthy to fight you,” I croak. “Doctor . . . I need a doctor.”
Ruthie lies still, spit dribbling out of her mouth.
While the boys move closer to inspect my friend, I tug on Robbie’s pants. “It’s okay,” I mouth.
He turns on the three bullies. “Next time . . . it’s going to be you. I’ve let you push me just because I didn’t want to hurt you. But know this—my dad’s a wrestler, I’m a warrior in training, and not only do I land a lethal kick . . . but I eat paste and live to tell about it. If you
ever
pick on me
or
anyone else again, I’ll come after you. And I’ll be bringing help.”
Like something out of a movie, the leader hesitates for only a second before running away. His coconspirators all but trip over their own feet to catch up with him.
Ruthie peels open an eyeball. “They gone?”
I see Robbie instantly relax. “You’re okay?”
She laughs and reaches her hand into her shirt, only to produce a squashed ketchup packet. “It was a great day for hash browns.”
“But now you’re all gross.” That’s
so
Robbie. He’s been problem free for less than a minute and already found something else to worry about.
Ruthie taps the red spot. “For you, I’ll wear the stain with honor.”
I pull myself upright. “Robbie, you did a great job. I’m proud of you, buddy.”
He sniffs his nose, swipes some dirt off his hands, then clutches my waist with all his might. “Bella, you make my whole face smile.”
My throat constricts as I wrap my arms around him and squeeze. “I love you, little brother.” A tear plops onto my cheek. Right before I’m tackled by Ruthie.
“I love you, too, guys.” She snorts into her sleeve. “That was the best!”
“Robbie?” I say with smushed lips. “You’ll always be a warrior to me.”
“Thanks, Bel,” comes his muffled voice.
“But seriously—the paste thing? You’ve got to give it up. Your breath smells like Elmer’s.”
After school, I have Budge make a pit stop at Pancho’s Mexican Villa. “I’ll be right back,” I say.
“Can I have a taco?” Robbie starts to bail out too.
“No. They stunt your growth.” And I shut the door.
I plow toward the door and fling it open. “Welcome to Pancho’s Mexican Villa!” a girl chirps. Her smile is nearly wider than her face.
Wow. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” she beams. “First day!”
Tomorrow she’ll sound like the other zombies.
I bypass her gleaming counter and hang a right to Manny’s office.
At my knock he wrenches it open. “What do you wa—” His hand goes to his largest gold chain. “What can I do for you?”
“Um . . . I just wanted to apologize for losing my cool and starting a food fight.”
“How sorry?”
“This much?” I hold out my hands the width of a taco.
Manny chews on a toothpick. “Do you want your job back by chance?”
Let me think about this. “No.”
“Look, two kids just quit, and I’m in deep trouble with spring break coming on. You could just work that week for me and then see how it goes.”
Well, gee, at one point I had plans to go to Manhattan, but . . .
“I could be persuaded.”
He smiles, his gold caps gleaming. “I’ll up your hourly wage by a dollar.”
Not bad, but I have a car to fix now. “Can I have a two hundred– dollar advance?”
His eyes pop. “What?”
“I’ll mention Pancho’s in my next newspaper article.”
“It’s a deal. But I’m hiding the refried bean shooter.”
“It’s probably for the best.”
When Budge pulls the car into our driveway, we’re singing three-part screamo harmony. Life is pretty good, and Robbie is back to being Robbie.
“I’m off to watch a documentary on the Japanese dung beetle.” He skips into the yard, a red cape fluttering behind him.
My phone vibrates in my purse, and I scrounge for it. “Hey, Luke.”
“How fast can you get back to school?”
“Five minutes. What’s up?”
“Meet me in the school office. And bring Budge with you.” The line goes dead.
“Budge, can you take me back to school?”
He rubs a smudge on the hearse. “No way, freak job.”
Yes, we are definitely back to normal. “Two words: Hannah. Montana.”
“Let’s roll.”
The twin doors leading into the high school are open, and we walk on through straight to the office.
“Hello?” I call.
“Back here.” Luke steps out from the secretary’s office. “We have a new development.”
Mrs. Norwood sits behind her desk, her face illuminated by the computer screen. “Yes, the grades have definitely been altered. But just for those four.”
Luke looks from me to Budge. “This afternoon someone got on the school server and changed some grades. Felicity, Anna, and Ruthie all suddenly had one F each.”
“And the fourth person?” I ask.
The secretary taps a few keys. “Let’s just say Joshua Day went from academic distress straight to the honor roll.”
Budge nods his head. “
Niiice
.”
“Does the grading program tell you what time the grades were changed?” I step over to the computer. Mrs. Norwood’s Avon perfume overrides any chances of my sniffing Luke. Plus I think it’s killing some of my brain cells.
“Yes.” She pulls up another screen. “This person would have to have special access—like administrative codes—to change these grades. Even a teacher’s password wouldn’t allow for editing a student’s grades in all classes.”
“What do you need from me?” Budge asks, primed to dig into high-security files.
“All of our tech crew are at a conference.” Mrs. Norwood chews on her lip. “I guess I can let you into the grade program. Budge, I need you to tell me who was logged on between one and one thirty.”