A & L Do Summer (8 page)

Laurel's mouth drops open.

Think, think, think!

“A pig?” I say as innocently as my pounding heart will allow. “Oh, Laurel, Officer Sierra must have heard what you said about the hog confinement.”

Please, Laurel, just play along!

“Oh, that.” She sounds like a robot with a low battery.

With my arm still around her neck, I drag her into a huddle with Cottonwood Creek's finest. “See, Officer Sierra, we've heard that the city council might allow a hog confinement west of town.” I lower my voice. “We want to protest against it at the next town council meeting, but Laurel's worried that staging a protest might be against a city ordinance or something.”

Officer Sierra raises the brim on his hat—the better to see our lying eyes. “Is that so?” TV cops use that same tone just before they drag guilty suspects off to prison.

“I told her we wouldn't—you know, get into trouble—because it's a free country and all, but …” Why doesn't he pull out his baton and knock me unconscious so I'll stop babbling? “So would we get arrested for protesting?”

His cop stare shifts from Laurel to me and back again. “That depends. If you march outside carrying signs, no problem. But if you physically or verbally disrupt the council meeting, you might be in trouble.”

“See, Laurel, I told you we could,” I gush, bobbing my head like I'm demented. “Well, thanks for the info, Officer Sierra. It was really nice to meet you,” I add, trying to simultaneously suck up and usher him out.

“Yeah, really nice,” Laurel adds in her low-battery robot voice. If I choose a life of crime, she'll make a lousy alibi witness.

But Officer Sierra is not a man who takes a hint. He spreads his feet and settles in like he plans to spend the afternoon. “See, girls, the word
pig
caught my attention because a farmer northwest of town, name of Dale Crawford, had some trouble with his pigs a week or so ago. On a Sunday night, I believe it was.”

Laurel gulps.

“Oh?” I say, because he seems to be waiting for one of us to say something. “What happened?” Itchy sweat is trickling into my butt crack.

“Well, Dale's not quite sure. His dogs started making a commotion about ten thirty or thereabouts, which isn't unusual with all the critters stirring at night. But after an hour of them carrying on, he got up and checked. He said everything seemed fine.” Officer Sierra runs a finger under his collar. “Around three in the morning the dogs started up again. Since there wasn't anything amiss the first time, he let it go.”

“Hmm.” I really, really want to scratch my butt crack.

“But in the morning he found tire tracks by the hog lot.”

“Really?” I release my chokehold on Laurel in case we have to make a run for it.

“Here's the funny part,” Officer Sierra says. “One of his gilts had popcorn around her snout.”

It's my turn to gulp. “Popcorn?” I squeak like Mickey Mouse on helium.

“Popcorn.” His hat shadows his eyes, but I feel them drilling into my brain. “That got him to checking his other pigs, and guess what?”

Laurel and I shake our heads in unison.

“He found popcorn on two of his other gilts.”

My vocal cords are paralyzed.

A manic light comes on in Laurel's eyes. “Well, maybe they went to a movie. You know, sort of a ‘gilts night out'?” She starts to giggle. “I think
Babe
is playing at the Newton drive-in theater.”

I clench my teeth against a laugh, but it escapes as a snort.

Officer Sierra shakes his head. “You are a funny one,” he says to Laurel. “Well, Dale said there was no harm done.” He touches the brim of his hat. “You young ladies have a nice day.”

“You too, Officer Sierra,” we chorus.

As soon as the police car pulls out of sight, Laurel collapses against me. “Do you think he knows?”

I unstick my underwear from my butt crack. “He thinks he knows something but he doesn't know what it is. And as long as he doesn't know, he can't accuse us of anything.”

Laurel nods. “You know, you're right. If we both stay strong, we'll be fine.”

My knees fold under me, and for the second time today, I'm sprawled on the ground. So much for staying strong.

“Aspen, are you all right?” Clay appears at my side.

Why is Fate out to get me? “I'm fine,” I say, pushing myself up to a sitting position. “I just got dizzy for a second.”

“Are you sure you didn't hit your head earlier?” I shake my head again and try to stand. Clay takes my hands and pulls me up. Then he puts his arm around my waist and leads me to a chair. “Laurel, stay with her while I get some water.” He dashes toward the coolers by the house.

“Are you sick or something?” Laurel asks.

“No, I think I'm just dehydrated. Of course, the blind terror didn't help either.” I straighten my rumpled top and check it for grass stains. “When Clay comes back, could you maybe go talk to someone else for a little bit?”

“I could make that sacrifice.” Laurel pulls a lip gloss from the pocket of her white denim shorts and adjusts her red V-neck tank top. Her earrings are vertical chains of three gold hearts, and a tiny diamond sparkles from the heart-shaped gold locket dangling in her cleavage. If I had cleavage like hers, my locket would be in the shape of an arrow pointing at it. “I read on Facebook that Manny broke up with Cynthia Burson last night. If I'm lucky, he's taking applications for a summer rebound girl.” She hikes up her boobs and tugs her shorts lower on her hips. “Good luck to both of us.”

As soon as Laurel sees Clay returning, she saunters off. The way she's swinging her hips, her shorts may be around her ankles before she reaches Manny. Which should get his attention—at least temporarily.

Clay hands me a bottle of water, which I chug like a wino after a weekend in the drunk tank. “Yeah, you were thirsty,” he says when I set the empty bottle on the table. “You look better now that your face is pink instead of white.”

“Thanks.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “How did you get here so fast? A minute ago, Wynter was whispering in your ear.”

Clay grins. “Does that mean you were watching me?”

“No, uh, well …” My face is scalding. “It's just…not many guys would leave her to—”

He glances over at Wynter, who's cuddling up to a stocky football player–type I don't recognize. Poor Laurel is trying to wade through the sea of girls around Manny. I hope she doesn't get trampled. “Wynter has some visible assets, but she's too aggressive for my taste.” Clay shrugs. “Besides, I couldn't pass up the chance to rescue you twice in the same day.”

I wish I had a bag of ice to dump into my bra. “I'm not always so high maintenance. You've been lucky enough to catch me at my worst.”

When Clay smiles, little lines fan out from the corners of his eyes. I wonder how many years ago he graduated. I'm turning seventeen next month, so as long as he's not outrageously ancient—like older than twenty-one—Mom and Dad won't freak too much.

He pulls out a chair and straddles it backward. The sun brings out his freckles and sparks the red highlights in his hair. “I wouldn't say that. The first time I saw you, you were wrangling pigs. Nothing catches a farm boy's attention like a girl who knows her way around livestock.”

As much as I'd like to hear about Clay being interested in me, his pig comment takes me back to the conversation Laurel and I just had with our new law enforcement friend. “Did Officer Sierra ask you any questions?”

Clay looks puzzled at the sudden change of topic. “Not really. Why?”

“He heard Laurel say the word
pig
and asked us a bunch of questions about that Crawford guy's pigs.”

Clay rests his arms on the back of the chair. “So what did you say?”

Is Clay thinking we ratted him out? “Don't worry. We acted like we didn't know anything about them.”

He frowns. “Why? You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Try telling that to my parents,” I say. “I don't think they'd be convinced.”

His frown deepens. “I'd guess Officer Sierra wasn't convinced either.”

My stomach twists like a pretzel. “Why not?”

“Because he already knew the whole story.”

My stomach pretzel twists tighter. “You mean the
whole,
whole story?”

“I imagine so. Tuesday night I called Dale and told him what happened.” Clay shifts his weight on the chair. “If I hadn't had a seed convention in Waterloo on Monday, I'd have called him sooner.”

“You told him …” I'm too overcome with panic to finish the sentence.

“A farmer's livestock is his livelihood, Aspen.” Clay sounds more like a parent than a potential boyfriend. “If one of those gilts turned up sick, Dale needed to know what to tell the vet.” He brushes his hair out of his eyes. “The only thing I couldn't tell him was who took his pigs in the first place.”

My mind can't process this much disastrous news at once. Okay, Laurel and I didn't lie to Officer Sierra—technically—but playing dumb was almost as bad.

Clay is waiting for me to name the guilty parties, but I value my life too much to rat out Buttferk. Laurel and I haven't forgotten Ferret's threatening Facebook message or Buttferk cornering us outside the school building. Laurel's place has a home alarm system, but my family's only alarm system is Carmine, and he'd rat me out to Jack the Ripper for a hamburger. Buttferk hasn't taken revenge yet, but the thought of them skulking through our house with knives freezes my blood. “Whoever did it was gone by the time we got there.” Aspen Parks tells another lie by omission.

“I see.” Clay stares down at the grass.

I can almost read the questions playing through his mind, and I'm waiting for him to ask one of them. It might be worth being killed to wipe the disappointed look off his face.

“Aspen Parks, there you are! Come here this minute!” Miss Simmons bellows at me from half a block away. Her face is hidden under a dinner-plate-size sunhat, and she's pushing her walker at warp speed. “Hurry up!”

I want to clear things up with Clay, but I don't know what to say. Besides, he's already on his feet. “It looks like you're needed,” he says. “Anyway, I have to take off.”

A lump the size of a grapefruit is lodged in my throat. “Clay, I'm—”

“Right now, young lady!” Miss Simmons is louder than the town fire siren that goes off at noon every weekday.

“Bye, Aspen. Have a good summer.” Which is guy talk for
I never want to see you again.

I don't even get to watch Clay walk out of my life because Miss Simmons's screeching is drawing stares from my grandparents. I walk out to meet her.

“Is there a problem, Miss Simmons?”

“Of course there's a problem!” she snaps. “I could fall and break my neck on your unkempt lawn.” She thrusts an empty Tupperware container into my hand. “I promised Sammy I'd bring him a snack. No sweets, mind you, just raw fruits and vegetables. But not broccoli. It gives him gas. And I won't tolerate that awful smell in my house!”

I'm too depressed to give that comment the comeback it deserves.

“Yes, Miss Simmons.” With a sigh that reaches the soles of my feet, I lead her to the refreshment table.

If my future holds a worse day than today, let me die now.

“WELCOME TO SUB STOP. HOW MAY I PLEASE YOUR TASTE BUDS
today?” I drone into my headset. Only five days into this job, and I'm already saying the stupid words in my sleep. After I punch the order for two Barn Burner specials, an Iron Horse combo, and three jumbo root beer Washouts into the computer, I push back my red-striped conductor's hat and scratch my sweaty scalp. In between customers I look longingly at the sunshine—and gulp some air that isn't tainted with exhaust fumes—through the open drive-through window.

How could I have forgotten how mindlessly dreary this job is? It must be like what Mom says about childbirth—after it's over you forget the pain and focus on the end result. In my case, that's the whopping eight dollars an hour I'm raking in.

I wish I could forget the pain of Manny's graduation party, but every time I close my eyes I see Clay walking out of my life. After he left I found a chair for Miss Simmons near the buffet table and put Sammy's take-out meal in the container she brought. By the time I'd finished with that, Miss Simmons was holding Aunt Sharon by the wrist and treating her to a detailed description of her hip replacement surgery. Mom saw her sister in Miss Simmons's clutches, caught my eye, and beamed. I used the opportunity to escape to a table on the opposite side of our lawn.

A few minutes later Laurel found me. Her hair was a mess, she was limping, and there was a red punch stain on her white shorts. “What happened to you?” I asked.

Laurel collapsed into a chair and crossed her left foot over her knee. “I couldn't even get close enough to Manny to say hi.” She showed me her swollen left big toe. “One of those sex-crazed freaks crushed my toe with her spiked heel. Who wears heels to a yard party?”

“Who spilled punch on your shorts?”

“Who knows? I was just glad to escape in one piece.” Laurel tried to smooth down her hair, but it was a losing battle. “How did things go with Clay?”

I felt a sob building in my throat. “I'll tell you later—in private.”

“That bad, huh?” Laurel patted my shoulder. “Look on the bright side. We'll be dateless together.” She paused. “Except you'll have a job to keep you busy during the day, and I won't. What am I going to do while you're at work?”

I didn't have an answer for her. All I could think of was that last awful conversation with Clay.