Okay, okay, so I know I promised a giant showdown against the Dull Droll Troll club, but as much as I would have liked to fill their homes with bully traps, something even bigger loomed in my way.
Valentine’s Day. To most middle schoolers, Valentine’s Day doesn’t pose all that much of a threat. After all, we’re twelve. Most kids in our class are barely past the cootie phase. But this year, things were different. Because this year, my older sister Sylvie had a date.
Don’t get me wrong, Sylvie’s had boyfriends in the past, so at first I wasn’t worried. Just like always, I figured she’d come home one day, give mom a speech about the stupidity of the male species (crazy, right?), and stomp up to her room. As Valentine’s Day got closer, though, I started to get worried. While most boyfriends had her screaming into her pillow, this one had her singing love songs in the shower. Really. In the shower. I had to figure out who this guy was.
“Why can’t you tell me his name?” I asked, flopping limply over the couch.
“Go away.”
“He’s that ugly?”
Sylvie whipped a pillow around and bashed me in the face, sending me tumbling back onto the floor. Everything probably would have ended there, if luck hadn’t struck like lightning the next day. I was doing homework at the kitchen table, the smell of Mom’s baking taunting me, when I saw a small envelope sticking out of Sylvie’s math book. I glanced around. She was nowhere in sight. I pounced on the envelope, pulling the letter out just enough to see the top few lines.
“Whatcha got there?” asked my mom, eyeing me suspiciously as she entered the room. She has a habit of eyeing me suspiciously basically whenever we come into contact.
“Just a letter.”
“I see.” She pulled a pack of meat from the freezer and glanced back at me casually. “So… what did he say?”
“Mother!” I cried, disappointed. “I can’t believe you! You would betray Sylvie’s trust enough to know the hidden secrets of her boyfriend’s innermost thoughts?” She turned slowly, fixing me with her x-ray vision. I slumped. “He’s taking her to the Red Palace for their date. Table thirty-nine.” It’s a good thing world dictators don’t go through interrogations.
“The Red Palace…” said my mother, nodding. “Isn’t Suzanne’s mom the manager there?”
Just like that, lightning struck. I think Mom could see some sign of swelling genius in my expression. “Brady,” she warned, “No following them there. You hear me?”
She wouldn’t need to worry about that. I was going to be there way before they were. Now all I needed to do was convince Suzanne to help me. Let me tell you, chocolate and flowers on Valentine’s morning at school goes a long way in convincing a girl. Thankfully, the Red Palace was swanky enough that it only opened after five, and that gave us plenty of time to get in with Suzanne’s mom’s key and prepare before the workers arrived. Once we were safely in and Suzanne had locked the door behind us, I unzipped my backpack and kicked it over, letting the contents spill out across the floor.
Her eyes widened. “It looks like you’re going to war,” she whispered in awe.
I pulled on my camo headband, the words Randy had first told me about the bullies at school springing to mind. “The best defense is a good offense, Suzanne,” I said heroically, pounding a fist into my palm. “Let’s get to work.”
We did. By the time we were done, you couldn’t tell the difference between table thirty-nine and the rest of them, but Suzanne and I knew.
“What now?” she asked.
“Now we hide,” I replied, my grin growing so big it caught in my bandana.
We stowed away in a back hallway, behind a door with a glass panel just big enough to keep the table in our sights as the restaurant came alive. Then, we waited. And waited. And waited. At ten after six, I had started to lose hope when Suzanne tapped me on the arm and pointed. There, out in the restaurant, someone was holding the door as a Sylvie entered behind him. She didn’t look at all like she normally did, with her sweatpants and morning growl, she was all done up, wearing a dress I’d only seen her wear on Christmas, but more than that… she was smiling, wider than I’d ever seen her smile before. I barely had time to notice, however, because right behind her, his long hair slicked back and shiny in the bright lights, was her date.
“Brady? What is it?” whispered Suzanne, pulling at me. “You look sick.”
“Oh man,” I wheezed, staring at that familiar face. “I’m so dead.”
“Why? Who is it?!”
“It’s… Randy!”
I ended up leaving about the time the whoopee cushion scared the hamster out of his hiding place. Back home, I waited nervously in my room for Sylvie to storm in. I didn’t have to wait long. But instead of venting to mom, Sylvie’s footsteps raced up the stairs and retreated into her room, disappearing behind a slammed door. I waited a while before knocking. “Sylvie?” I whispered, eyeing the door cautiously. “Are you okay?” She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. She was still crying when Mom went in to sit with her.
The next day, after school, I walked slower than normal into dad’s auto shop. Randy looked up at me from where he was working on an old Ford, studying me. “You need a Coke?”
I swallowed. “Actually… maybe I should get you one.” It didn’t take long for the whole story to come out. Randy didn’t cut in once.
When I finally finished, he glanced at me, his gaze twinkling ever so slightly. “I thought I recognized that hamster.” I hung my head. “You told Sylvie yet?”
“I thought I’d apologize to you first,” I replied, sighing. “Especially since I may or may not be alive by the time I finish with her.”
He nodded his head thoughtfully. “Good strategy.” When he handed me a Coke, I grinned in relief. One apology down, one to go.
The second one started about how I expected, but after a fair amount of threats (from her), and one or two pleas for mercy (from me), we ended on a pretty good note. That night, after telling the story to my parents and having to wait for my dad to stop laughing to hear my punishment, Sylvie came and took the old swing next to me in the backyard.
“How long you grounded for?” she asked, glancing over at me.
“Until I go to college.”.
“Could have been worse.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “They could have used one of your threats.”
She grinned and tousled my hair. “You would have made good polar bear food.”
We sat there a moment in silence. “Are you and Randy going out again?”
“Next weekend.”
“I’m glad,” I said, standing up. “He’s fun.” She smiled slightly, but half way back to the house, I paused, glancing back. “Out of curiosity… where might he be taking you this time?”
“Nice try, you little twit.”
Photo Credit: Sabina Boyer