So Not Happening (23 page)
I follow him into the kitchen where Robbie sits with a coloring book. “The school isn't
that
big. Just tell me what the talk was when things started going wrong last year.”
Budge jerks open the door and it slams against the cabinets. “Things went
wrong?
One guy jumps to his death and another's a permanent vegetable, and you call that things going wrong?”
“Budge, wait. I'm sorry, I just—“
Slam.
The glass panes rattle in the door.
“Everybody knows not to talk to Budge about Zach.”
Robbie's words go off like cannons in the kitchen. “What did you say?”
He sticks out his tongue and selects another crayon. “My daddy says there are three things you don't bring up to Budge—my mama, girls, and his friend Zach.”
I pull out a chair and sit next to my stepbrother. “So Budge and Zach Epps were friends?”
Robbie rolls his eyes like I'm simple. “Yeah, for like forever. And you can't ask him about it.”
“Has Budge ever mentioned Carson Penturf?”
Robbie shades in a puppy's tail with a pink crayon. “Nah.”
“Oh.” Dead end.
So Zach and Budge were friends? But Budge is . . . Budge. I mean he's all about computers and video games and . . . eating Twinkies. And Zach must've been a star athlete. A jock. What could they possibly have had in common?
“What are we having for dinner, Robbie?”
He folds his fingers and shoots invisible webs toward a cabinet over my head. “SpaghettiOs.”
“Coming right up, little caped crusader.”
My phone sings and I press it to my ear. “Hunter! The flowers are amazing.” I tap my stepbrother on his caped shoulder. “Why don't you fly off into the living room. I'll make dinner and call you when it's ready.”
He nods. “I might have to take a coloring break and go save a few people. Is that okay?”
“Only a few people. You have to be home by the time your dad gets back.” I ruffle his red hair, and he scurries out of the room. “So . . . it was a sweet surprise. I loved the card too.”
“I've missed you, Bella. When do you come home next?”
“It's going to be a few weeks. Seems like forever.” I dig for a can opener in a drawer. After asking Hunter about his day, I update him on the Brotherhood.
“You be careful around all those athletes. I don't want to see you get hurt.”
“Oh, you and Luke. I can take care of myself.”
“Luke?” Static crackles on the line.
“My editor.”
“Is he old and ugly?”
“Um . . . not exactly.” He's tall, muscular, and gorgeous. If you like the nerdy, intellectual, rude sort.
“Do I have any reason to be concerned?”
“Of course not!”
Puh-lease.
“He's nothing like you. He's obnox- ious. He's insensitive. He treats me like a total idiot. I would rather run my tongue across Jake's cow pasture than date Luke.”
“I just wanted to make sure. This long-distance thing really is hard, isn't it, Bel?”
I sigh into the phone. “It's only been a week, but it feels like forever since I've seen you.” The microwave dings. “I better go. I'm babysitting Robbie tonight while my stepdad whups up on some grown men.”
“Miss ya.”
“Miss ya right back.” And I slide my phone back into my jeans. “Robbie! Your gourmet pasta meal is ready!” I walk into the living room, where Superman flies across the television screen. “Robbie?” His coloring books lie open on the floor. I walk to the stairs and call for him again.
No answer.
Running up to his bedroom, I find cars scattered, action figures strewn, and Legos arranged in piles. But no Robbie.
After two minutes of searching and yelling, I race outside, bellowing his name. I check the barn, the old truck, my car, the trees, the pond. Everywhere.
I stand in the center of the pasture next to Betsy the cow, squeeze my eyes shut, and beg God for help.
Please, Jesus. I seriously
need a hand here. When I walk in that house, let Robbie be there. If
something happens to that kid, I will die—throw myself in front of a
tractor and die.
Fifteen minutes later I collapse onto the couch, hoarse from yelling Robbie's name. My pulse races as I pick up my phone and call my mother.
No answer.
I hit redial until my finger aches.
I text her an urgent message then watch the phone for a reply.
What do I do?
Long moments pass, and fighting the urge to throw up, I press the three dreaded numbers.
9-1-1.
“I need to report a missing child.”
By ten o'clock, I've puked twice, talked to the police three times, and tried to call Mom a million times. And nobody at Wiener Palace will pick up the phone.
At 10:05,the picture I gave the police from our mantel flashes on the evening news. The blonde reporter describes his last moments in the house, mentioning the fact that his stepsister was in charge of him for the evening. Great, way to paint me a loser.
I've called Hunter and Mia both, but like everyone else, they don't answer. It's like I'm totally alone in the world tonight.
An hour later, I jump off the couch when headlights shine through the windows. My heart sinks when I see it's Budge. He is going to rip my head off and feed it to the cows for a late-night snack.
Um, hi. Remember your brother? Yeah, Host him.
The back door slams, and swallowing back equal parts bile and dread, I meet Budge in the kitchen. “Budge, I lost your brother. I mean he's gone.” Snot drips out of my nose like water from a faucet. “I don't know what happened. One minute I was fixing him SpaghettiOs, and I don't know what's in those meatballs, but the next minute the cow and I are walking the fields yelling for him, but he wasn't there. And the police came and one was really short and I kept looking down at him and thinking, 'Wow, he's almost like a midget,' and then they took down all this information, and you just missed him on the news.” I wail my last few words.
Budge doesn't even blink. “You lost me at meatballs.”
I take deep, shuddering breaths and wipe my eyes. “I said”—I pause as a sob closes my throat—“your brother is—”
The door flings open again and Robbie waddles in dragging his red cape. “S'up?”
“Wh-what?” I point at the six-year-old. “It's Robbie. That's your brother.” I rush to Robbie and wrap him in my arms. “Thank You God, thank You God, thank You God.”
“Stop squeezing me. Lemme go. You can't kiss superheroes. You're going to suck my powers out!”
“Bella,” comes Budge's deep voice. “Step away from the child.”
I look up, still clutching my stepbrother. “Where have you been? I've looked for you everywhere. The
police
have looked everywhere.”
Robbie shimmies out of my grip. “I went to the Wiener Palace.”
“What?” I pin Budge with my evilest glare. “He was with you the whole time? I've been entertaining the Truman PD and watching your brother on the Tulsa news, and
you
had him with you at work? Are you kidding me?” I'm yelling.
“Yeah.” Budge picks a piece of lint from his vest. “Good job keeping an eye on my brother.”
“But how did you get to Budge's work? Why would you leave and not tell me?”
“I rode my bike. It took a really long time, but I'm pretty strong like my dad. And I
told
you I was going to go save some people.”
“I might have to take a coloring break and go save some people.”
“I thought you were teasing!”
Robbie frowns and shakes his head. “Being a superhero is not something to joke about. It's my responsibility to the world.”
I kneel down to get in his face. “Unless you were there passing out antacids like a Rolaids fairy, I can't imagine why you went to the Wiener Palace.”
Robbie scuffs his toe along the linoleum floor. “Budge needed me. You made him sad, and he needed me to cheer him up.”
I jerk my head toward Budge. “And you couldn't have called? What kind of crap is that? I've been out of my head with worry.”
He shrugs. “Not my fault you couldn't hack ten minutes alone with my brother.”
I clench my fists at my side.
Do not punch your fist through his
nose.
“You've got issues, you know that, Budge? You're mean, you're
thoughtless, and you don't care about anybody but yourself.”
The front door opens and closes. Anxious voices call from the living room.
Mom and Jake.
Budge laughs and pushes past me. “Looks to me like
you're
the one with the issues.”
T
he Holy Church of the Sacred High School has a great choir. It's like watching
Sister Act.
Well, minus the nun outfits. But these people know how to sing some Jesus.
I sit next to Lindy and Matt, opting for some time away from the family. While I didn't really get in trouble last night over Robbie's disappearance, Mom wasn't exactly what I'd call happy with me either.
As I clap along to the up-tempo song, I watch Budge sitting with his friends. He stands with his arms crossed, not singing, looking like he wants to be anywhere but church. Jake totally grounded him for not calling me last night when his brother showed up at the Weiner Palace. And of course, Budge is furious with me. Like it's my fault. If this is the kind of stuff I've missed not having siblings, I can't say I feel deprived.
“What do you say we pick up a pizza and go hang out at the city park?” Matt asks after the service. “Do you want to go?”
“I'm in a dress.” I turn to Lindy. “You're in a dress.”
“Oh. I guess I'll have to pass. I would hate to muss up my skirt.” She flips her hair and her perfume floats between us. “It's Moochie, you know.”
I cough. “Gucci.”
Matt's face falls. “Come on, Lind. We haven't thrown the football around in forever. You're always too busy doing your nails or worried about messing up your pedicure or something.”
Lindy looks to me, waiting for me to throw her a life preserver.
“Maybe a day at the park would be fun. Get a little sun while we eat. Sure, why not?” I link my arm through Lindy's. “Maybe you can do some boy-watching too. A nice day like this—who knows who'll be out there?”
“I'm not going out there so you two can gawk at the guys. Let's just go hang out and have a good time, okay?”
We step into the aisle, and I lean close to Lindy's ear. “He sounds jealous, doesn't he? It's totally working.”
Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. “I hope he gets the idea soon. I'm sick of dressing like a princess.”
“But this is the new you, Lindy. It's not a phase. You've been totally transformed. Lots of girls would kill to have those Chanel shoes you have on right now. You went from looking like a sports warehouse model to a runway model. And he's into it. I've seen him looking at you.”
“Yeah, like I'm a psychopathic shopping freak.”
“Just trust me.” I pat her arm and join my parents.
“Hey, I'm going to the park with—“ I choke on the rest of my sentence as I notice a familiar bald man in the family huddle.
“Bella, you remember Mickey.” Jake pats his trainer's back.
Yes, how have you been since I broke into your gym and found my
stepfather throwing himself on another man?
Mickey takes his eyes off me and focuses on Mom. “Jillian, how's work? Are you adjusting to life at the diner?”
“It's getting better. I never realized what a hard job it was to be a waitress.”
Um, probably because you weren't made to be one.
My mom used to serve on the boards of directors for charities. Now she's serving anything that comes with fries.
Mickey clasps his hands behind his back, making his chest muscles pop through his oxford shirt. The guy may be pushing fifty, but he could probably take on any member of the Truman football team. “And how is Dolly?” He turns his attention to the floor.
“She's fine, Mickey. Maybe you should come by the diner for a piece of pie someday next week.” Mom's face is hopeful.
“I haven't . . . um . . . had any of Sugar's banana cream pie in years.”
Mom wraps her small arm around Jake's ox of a trainer. “Sounds like it's been too long. Come in to the diner, Mickey. Things might've changed in there.”
Mickey scratches his head. “Oh, did they redecorate?”
“She means Dolly,” I blurt. “Not the wallpaper.” Boys. They're so dense. “So I'm going to the park with Matt and Lindy, okay?” I give my mom a quick squeeze.
“Why don't you ask Logan to go?” Mom asks as my least favorite Trumanite joins us. She jerks her blonde head toward him.
“Bella, wasn't there something you wanted to ask Logan?”
I pry my clenched teeth apart. “Budge, would you like to accompany me and some friends to the park?”
“I'd rather eat hot lava.”
“Okay then.”
“Bella, go get him.” Mom pushes me into the flow of the crowd as my stepbrother walks away.
“Budge, wait.” I catch up with him in the school lobby. “Look, you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot, and I'm sorry. Let's—”
“I don't need you, Jillian's attempts to be my mom, or this stupid church. I'm out of here.”
“What is your problem?” I catch his arm. “I know losing your best friend had to hurt a lot—still does, I'm sure. But being mad at all of us isn't going to accomplish anything.”