The Big Picture by Jenny B. Jones
Shaking, I walk away.
“CHELSEA IS CRYING.”
Thirty minutes later Charlie looms over my chair.
I peel my attention away from the light saber duel onscreen. “What?”
“I said Chelsea is crying.” His whole body is tense; his gray eyes cold.
I already regret what I said to her earlier. It was wrong, and I know it. But now, seeing him all steamed up and defending her like he’s her man, my regret seems far away.
I can tell my bland expression is ticking him off.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
With a glance at Frances and Nash, who now think we’re the main attraction, I get up and walk out of hearing range. Charlie follows, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
He glares. “Well?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“That you’re sorry?”
“Okay . . .” Yeah, I could do that.
“I can’t believe you.” Charlie runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I specifically asked you not to say anything about her dad. I trusted you with that information. I told you not to tell anyone. And what do you do? You throw it in Chelsea’s face.”
Dude, there’s a whole list of things I’d like to throw in Chelsea’s face.
“She was baiting me. I wasn’t going to stand there and take it.”
He gets eye level with me. “Did you or did you not basically tell her her dad would be going to jail?”
“I guess, but — ”
He holds both hands up and steps away. “I cannot believe you.”
Yes, I think we’ve established that. “Did your little princess tell you what she said to me?”
“Does it matter?”
That stops me cold. “It used to. I guess now that I have a one-way ticket out of town, you don’t care, right? Chelsea can just say anything she wants. Be a witch to anyone she wants.”
“You have no idea what she’s going through.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Okay, Charlie.” I nod and smile. “Okay, you win. Yes, I said something hateful to Chelsea. I’m sorry. She didn’t provoke it at all. I did it to hurt her — just for the fun of it. Because that’s who I am — who I really am.”
“I never said that.”
I glance over his shoulder at the In Between moon, not really seeing it, but looking right through. “Somehow in the last few weeks you’ve changed your opinion of me — and of Chelsea. I’m not going to stand here and fight with you to try and change your mind. I’m better than that.” I drag my gaze back to his. “I said too much tonight, and for that I’m sorry. You can tell your girlfriend that.” I wince at my own jealous tone. “But I won’t be dragged into her petty little world.” I turn around. “I’ll leave that for you.”
“That’s all you’re going to say?” he calls after me.
I pause. And turn around. “You know me, Charlie Benson.” I shake my head, a trace of a bitter smile on my face. “And I thought I knew you.”
Chapter nineteen
“COME ON, SUNSHINE. WAKEY, WAKEY, eggs and bakey!”
I lift one heavy eyelid and see Maxine sitting on my bed, with Rocky panting beside her.
“Upsy daisy!”
“Get that dog out of my room.” I don’t want him drooling on my rug.
“What’s that?” Maxine raises her volume like I’m the senior citizen. “You want Rocky to give you a big, wet kiss? Okay. Up, Rocky! Up!”
“No!” I raise my hands to block my face, but not before the nine-hundred-pound bag-of-slobbers wets me down with his giant tongue. Ewww. Bathed in dog spit.
Maxine flips my blanket off. “Come on. Family breakfast downstairs. You don’t want to miss it. James is fixing waffles. Real ones. Not gluten-free, wheat-free, nasty organic cardboard ones.”
“Just go away.” Normally the lure of real food with all its additives and preservatives would have me sliding down the banister. But not today. Not after last night. It’s like I have a fight-with-Charlie hangover.
“Aw, why so glum, sweet pea? Did the big, bad blonde sit too close to you last night?”
I yank the sheet over my head, desperate to get away from Rocky’s Milk Bone breath. “I don’t even want to hear Chelsea’s name.”
Maxine snorts. “I was talking about me.” She scoots in closer and leans over me. “Trouble in sophomore paradise?”
“I want to sleep. It’s only seven-thirty.” And Bubba’s Big Picture goes down at eight. I find this a dark day and one that would best be observed from the comfort of my bed and my pjs. And maybe a little MTV later. And Diet Dr Pepper.
“Somebody’s got her Victoria’s Secrets in a wad.”
“Spare me the details of your wedgie.”
Maxine chuckles. “I meant you. What happened last night? You know I hate to be left out.”
“Does it matter? You’ll just read it in my journal later.”
“True. But I like to hear it from the source. Saves me a lot of time.”
I rise up and spill out last night’s details. “Besides . . . I’m mad at you.”
Maxine studies a manicured nail. “Is this about borrowing your shoes last night?”
“Um . . . no. You did?”
“Is this about using your Abercrombie T-shirt to wipe up my spilled nail polish?”
“What?”
“Or are you mad because I used the last of your perfume as air freshener in the bathroom?”
I rub my eyes. When I fully wake up, I have a lot to be mad about. “You and the mayor, Maxine!”
“Oh. That.”
“Yeah, that. What is that about? What are you thinking?”
“Ten-gallon hats are kinda sexy?”
I sit up, grab a ponytail holder from my bedside table, and bundle my hair. “No, they’re not. You know who is hot? Sam.” Ugh, my stomach turns. “Er, for you, that is. Maxine, what are you doing pushing him away like that?”
“Me pushing him away? He’s been seen around town with that . . . that . . . tramp.”
“Betty Lou wears Velcro shoes. That doesn’t exactly scream hoochie mama to me.”
Maxine snorts. “You’d be surprised.”
“Look, I know this is just about making Sam jealous. But couldn’t you pick someone else?”
“William is a man of culture. A man of class.”
“His Cadillac honks ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas.’”
“Mind your own business.”
But this is my business. I can’t leave with everything so unsettled. I need to know everyone is okay, and life is as it should be.
Schlumping behind Maxine, I follow her downstairs to the kitchen. James mans his post at the waffle iron, whistling a happy tune.
“Morning, ladies.”
“Where’s Millie?” And does she know James is fixing food that is neither natural nor gross?
“She went back to bed for a bit. Thought she’d catch a few more zs.”
I frown and grab a juice glass. Lately Millie’s been getting worn down by her chemo. She’s even been going in for fluids to keep her up and running. Just another loose end for me to stress about when I leave. Millie needs me to stay around and help her. At some point the contractors in town will get caught up with all of the tornado destruction and fix Maxine’s apartment. Then she won’t be around to help Millie as much. Of course, her help consists of dusting the remote control and getting the mail.
“Are you okay, Katie?” James flops two waffles on my plate, and I inhale their sweet aroma. Oh, sweet bread product with absolutely no nutritional value — how I have missed you.
“Yeah.” I drench my plate in syrup. “Just tired.” Tired of worrying. Tired of my brain being on permanent rewind and watching last night over and over. Tired of this constant feeling of being pulled in too many directions.
“Buford Wallis will be okay. He’ll find other work.” James serves his mother-in-law.
“But the drive-in makes him happy. Bubba’s Big Picture is his dream.
Maxine lifts a shoulder. “When that man’s made up his mind, there’s no stopping him.”
Ring! Ring!
James steps into the kitchen to answer the phone. “Katie, it’s for you.” He eyes the clock with a scowl. “It’s a boy.”
I pick up the phone as Maxine makes kissy noises from the table. “Hello?”
“Katie, it’s Charlie.”
Charlie? It’s seven forty-five. What’s going on? But I push down any fear and remind myself I’m mad at him. “Yeah?”
“Katie . . . I need you.”
I know that’s right.
“It’s Frances. She’s climbed up to the top of Bubba’s Big Picture snack bar and refuses to come down.”
“What?”
“I came out this morning to . . . um, well, to take one last look at the drive-in. And Frances was here. Katie, you’ve got to talk her out of this. The demolition crew will be here any minute.”
“I . . . I . . .” Oh, the dilemma! I have waffles waiting on me, and who knows when we’ll be together again. “I’ll see you in five minutes.” I run back to my plate and inhale the rest of one waffle. “Gotta go.”
“Where?” James sets his morning paper down. “What was all that about?”
“Frances is on top of the drive-in concession stand. I need to get to her before she does something crazy. Can you take me?”
“Katie, I really don’t want to leave Millie this morning. She’s not feeling so great. And you’re not even dressed yet.” He points to my saggy pajama bottoms and Nerds Are Hot T-shirt.
“I’ll take you, toots. Just let me get my helmet.”
“There’s no time to ride your bike, Maxine. I want to get there before the demolition crew.” And then an idea hits me. “James . . . can I borrow the car?”
He chokes on his juice. “Excuse me?”
I engulf him in a loose hug and lean my head on his shoulder. “Please? I’ll be extra careful. I am a licensed driver now.”
“Katie, I don’t know. You’re still so new to driving. And you have to drive with an adult for six months. And I’m not leaving Millie right now.”
I sigh. “So I guess I’m out of luck.”
“Hey, what am I?” Maxine chirps.
“It looks that way, hon. Sorry.”
“Yoo-hoo! Adult, right here.” Maxine waves her hand in my face.
“Maybe one of the neighbors could go with me.”
“Hellewww, I ain’t swigging prune juice because I like it. I’m an adult.” Maxine stands up. “Get the keys and let’s go. We have to save Miss Advanced Placement.”
James and I share a look, then he shrugs. “I suppose she’ll do. But you are changing first, right?”
“Nope. No time to lose.” Thank you, Frances. Nothing like parading myself in front of Charlie with morning breath, bed head, and pants that make me look like I have a full diaper. A little warning about her freaking out would’ve been nice.
James follows us outside to the car, spouting a litany of driving reminders and handing me my flip-flops. I grab the keys from my foster dad, give him a smacking kiss on the cheek, and put Millie’s Honda into motion. My first voyage as a licensed driver! I guess there is something good about Frances’s freaky-psycho meltdown.
Maxine cranks up the radio, her grin wide across her face. “You with a license — I like it. I like it a lot.”
I turn onto Main Street. “I am not going to be your personal chauffeur.” I don’t trust that gleam in her eye.
A few minutes later I pull through the entrance to Bubba’s Big Picture. I drive straight to the snack bar area and park next to Charlie.
“Frances!” I yell, jumping out of the car. My best friend perches on the flat roof of the concession building, arms crossed, chin in the air. “Frances Vega, I know you can hear me!”
“She refuses to budge.” Charlie stands next to me, and the scent of his shampoo carries my way on a breeze. “I called Nash. He should be here any minute.”
“Yeah, and so will the police. What are we going to do?” Like Frances, I stand with my arms crossed so he knows I’m still steamed.
Maxine looks up to the roof. “A day in the slammer might do her some good . . . What? Never hurt me.”
I walk closer to the building. “Frances, listen to me.”
Nothing. No response.
“Zhen Mei Frances Vega” — she winces as I use the name only her parents call her — “this is crazy. Your dad is going to kill you! Does he know where you are?”
She might as well be a statue for all the reaction I’m getting.
I hoist myself onto the snack bar, then with every ounce of strength I’ve got, pull myself onto the roof. I lie there, trembling and out of breath.
“You could’ve just used the ladder.” Frances points to the back. “I brought one with me.”
I close my eyes, sigh deeply, and walk toward her. “What are you doing out here? You know this isn’t going to solve anything.”
Frances shakes her head, her black hair shining in the morning sun. “I can’t give up. Progress robs a town of its history. First it’s the drive-in. Next it will be a supermarket in the place of Tucker’s. Then what — they’ll change our Chihuahua mascot?”
Oh, life couldn’t be that kind.
“The wrecking crew is going to be here any minute, you know.”
“So? I’m not moving.”
I try a new tactic. “Harvard doesn’t accept incoming freshmen with rap sheets.”
Frances blinks behind her glasses. “Then I’ll go to Yale.”
“You’re gonna be grounded so long, you won’t even be able to go to the junior college.”
“That’s the price I’m willing to pay.” She tucks a runaway piece of hair behind her ear.
“Grounded so long you can’t even go to the junior college and will have to work in a plant.”
“For this, I would pluck chickens.”
I sigh and shift my legs beneath me. “You can so kiss dating good-bye.”
“I hear prom is overrated.” Frances looks into the distance.
I study my friend, the set of her face, her crossed arms. The Goldfish crackers and juice box beside her. This girl ain’t going nowhere. “There’s nothing I can say?”
Her black eyes meet mine. “Katie, I have to do this. I can’t let the drive-in go without a fight.”
I nod and take a step back, the boards creaking beneath me. “Okay, then. I’ll visit you in prison.” I’ve got a little practice with that. “You know they’re just going to physically remove you from this roof.”
Frances shrugs. “If that’s what they have to do. But I called the paper, and they should be arriving in another ten minutes, so let them get the story of the big bad mayor having a young girl roughed up and dragged off a building.”
Wow. “You should’ve been the one in drama.” I walk toward the ladder, deciding to take the easy way down. Not that heaving my full body weight onto the roof wasn’t fun. And probably really attractive, too. “I’m going to be down there if you need anything.” I give Frances a thumbs-up sign and a bolstering smile, then walk toward the edge.
I frown as the roof wobbles a bit. “Kinda weak over here, Frances. Be careful, okay?”
“What?” she calls.
“I said there are some weak boards and — ”
Crash!
I stumble onto my knee as my right leg plunges through the roof.
“Oh, my gosh!” I yell. My body hits the flat surface, and my brain whirls, as if trying to locate all my body parts.
Frances dashes over to me. “Katie! Are you okay?”
“Yeah . . . I think I’m okay.” Sweat beads on my forehead. “I . . . um . . .” I move my right leg. All toes work. Ankle — ow. Not so good. Just gonna pull it back up and get out of here.
“Katie?” Charlie bellows from below. “What’s going on?”
“I know mouth-to-mouth!” Maxine hollers. “Do you need me?”
Ew. “It’s nothing! I’m fine!” I inject some attitude in my yell for Charlie’s sake.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Frances asks, her brow knit with concern. Her gaze travels over my head, and I turn to follow her stare.
Oh, no.
The demolition crew is here.
Racing toward the back, steering clear of me and the hole, Frances grabs the ladder and manhandles it until it slides up next to her.
“Put that ladder back down, Frances.”
She ignores me.
I lift my leg, desperate to get both legs in the same place and on level ground.
“I can’t pull my leg up.”
“What?”
I double my volume. “I said I can’t pull my leg up!”
“I heard you! What do you mean?”
I balance my body weight on my arms and give a few good tugs. Nothing. “My pajama bottoms are caught on something. I think it’s a nail.” This could only happen to me. I know God’s up there with his angelic posse saying, “Come here. You gotta check this girl out. She’s at it again!”
“Maybe if I . . . um . . .” Frances wraps her arms around my upper body and pulls.
“Ow! I need my leg out, not my torso detached!” My heart beats wildly in my chest. Don’t freak out. Do not freak out. What if I fall all the way through? I don’t want to die in my ratty pajamas.
“Hey!” A gruff voice echoes from below. “What are you two doing up there?”
Frances tiptoes to the other side. “Hello, sir. How are you this fine morning?”
“Yeah, great. Whatever. Get down. Now.”
“No.”
“Frances,” I hiss. “Tell him I’m stuck. Tell him I’m seconds away from busting through and doing a cannonball into the popcorn machine, and I need some help.”
“No.”
“Help!” I scream. “Help me!”
“What’s going on up there?”
“My leg is stuck! It fell through the roof!” And I should never have gotten out of bed this morning.
“Katie?” Charlie calls. “Are you okay?”
“Yes! My leg is stuck in the roof, I can’t move it, Frances hauled the ladder up, it’s a million degrees up here, and I’m having the time of my life. Thanks for asking!” I snarl.