Also Known as Rowan Pohi (11 page)

"Where's the key?"

"On the table." He flipped my pancakes. "Don't lose it. And, Bobby, be real careful when you pull those cars into the garage."

"I've done it before."

"Yeah, but you aren't supposed to drive at all," he reminded me. "If my insurance guy ever found out, he'd have a royal shit fit."

Cody grinned. "Shit fit!"

I swatted Cody on the arm. "Don't say that word!"

"Hey!" He swatted me back.

After breakfast I caught the downtown bus to Fifteenth Street and walked three blocks to Remington, where CarWorks was located. It took several tries before I found the right key and unlocked the door. Inside it was eerily quiet. Mechanics typically don't work on Saturday, and it did feel weird to be working alone in such a large space. But it was nice too. I had worked on Saturdays a few times before, and I could get a lot done when there was nobody else around.

The car keys hung on hooks on a board inside my father's office. When I pressed a button, the large doors began to lift on service bay number 1. The first car was a green Subaru. I got into the car, started it, and drove about fifty feet into the first bay. It wasn't much of a drive, but for me it was a blast because I didn't have a driver's license and wouldn't get one for at least a year. It was surprising that my father let me drive at all. He wasn't the kind of person who looked the other way.

I opened the hood and unscrewed the oil filter cap. Then I climbed into the bay below the Subaru, located the oil pan, and used a wrench to unscrew the drain plug, making sure I had the large plastic bucket in place to catch the old oil. Doing an oil change was a cinch. I often thought that if regular people knew how easy it was, they would all start doing it themselves. (And I'd be out of a job.)

After I got done changing the oil, I vacuumed out the car. CarWorks had an industrial-size vacuum with three times the suction power of an ordinary vacuum, so it was fun to use. Vacuuming was a "value-added service" my father provided for the cars he worked on. I found $1.62 in coins on the floor and between the seats of the Subaru. I always found tons of lost coins when I vacuumed—my all-time record was $4.86. My father had directed me to put all the change in a paper cup and leave it in the cup holder, which is what I did.

"Leaving that cup of coins may seem like a little thing," my father said, "but if it builds the customer's trust, even a little, it's worth it."

I whistled as I worked, happy to have a job that would keep my mind off the train wreck that was my life. Plus I was happy to be making money. I needed to pay back what I'd borrowed from Marcus and Big Poobs. I hated having any debt hanging over me. But before I paid them back, I needed to buy the White-stone blazer.

Later that afternoon I took Cody to the Jamaican festival at People's Park. I thought I smelled ganja, but couldn't be 100 percent sure. A tall guy in dreads was handing out samples of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. You could buy all kinds of Jamaican food: jerk chicken, green bananas, even curried goat. There were games, a steel-drum band, and face-painting for the little kids. A chubby clown made a dog out of balloons and gave it to my brother. It was good to see him smile.

Everybody seemed to be in a good mood—except me. I was wound tight inside. I kept seeing the faces of Seth and Brogan. I couldn't get them out of my head.

We were just about to leave when a familiar voice rang out.

"Rowan!"

It was Derrick, the tall kid in my English class who was also trying out for the football team. He was standing by the fence with a group of Whitestone kids. I waved but kept moving.

Cody squinted up quizzically in the afternoon sun.

"Hey, Bobby! He called you Rowan!"

"He's silly," I said, and pulled a glob of blue cotton candy off his chin.

Later that day I decided to text Marcus and Big Poobs.

Meet IHOP?

IL B der, Poobs texted back.

Nothing from Marcus.

At the IHOP four senior citizen types had set up a command post in the booth where we usually sat. Across the room I spotted Big Poobs taking up one entire side of a booth, a bench meant for two. I was really glad to see him. We each ordered root beer and waited in silence until the waitress brought them to the table.

"Power straws?" Poobs suggested uncertainly.

"No." I shook my head. "How's school?"

Poobs groaned. "Riverview is the pits this year. Some kid brought a knife into school—you heard about that, right? The administration freaked. They totally overreacted, installed metal detectors at both entrances. It sucks. Now we have to show up twenty minutes early."

"Or late."

It was Marcus!

"Shove over," he told Poobs, flopping down next to him.

"Hey, Marcus," I said carefully.

"Bobby." Marcus's face was expressionless. "Or is it Rowan? I can't remember which."

"I told you I was sorry."

"It's cool." Marcus picked up the menu. "I'm not pissed off anymore."

"So we're good?" I persisted.

"Good enough." He studied the menu without looking at me. "So. How is life with the Stonys?"

"Great," I said sarcastically "Couldn't be better."

Marcus looked up from the menu. "What's wrong?"

Sighing, I told them all about Seth and Brogan.

"Seth is going to rat me out unless I pay him," I concluded. "What am I going to do? He's got me by the balls."

"I think I remember that twerp," Marcus said slowly.

"Maybe you should pay them," Poobs suggested.

I lifted one eyebrow. "Maybe you should eat my sweaty jock. I'm not going to pay anyone."

"Then try to talk to him," Poobs said.

I glared at him. "Don't you think I already have?"

"Guys like that don't listen to reason, ever," Marcus put in. "Trust me, I know from experience. What's this moron's name? Seth? We may need to break Seth's face. I'm serious."

"I thought of that," I admitted. "But, c'mon, let's be real. We're not the face-breaking type. We're not face-breakers."

"I could squash him like a bug," Poobs said.

Marcus snorted. "You never hit anybody in your life."

"But I could," Poobs insisted.

Marcus smiled. "But you wouldn't. I hate to tell you, dude. You're a gentle giant, not a fighter."

"Whatever." Big Poobs turned to me. "So what are you going to do?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. Not one." I crunched a big piece of ice between my teeth. "But I'd better come up with something quick. I'm running out of time."

O
N MONDAY MORNING MY FATHER WAS SIPPING HIS COFFEE
,
leaning back against the counter, when I came into the kitchen.

"Ready for school?" he asked.

"Yeah," I muttered. He didn't ask which school, so technically it wasn't a lie. Or so I told myself. I had on my jeans plus my ecofriendly
USE/LESS
T-shirt. I knew that wearing the new khakis and the green Whitestone shirt would prompt questions from my father, questions I wasn't prepared to answer. Over the weekend I had washed my Whitestone uniform and stowed it in my backpack. I had an extra jersey in my school locker.

I downed a bowl of cereal, two jelly doughnuts, and a glass of orange juice, and ran to catch the bus. When I got off, I ducked into the restroom at a nearby McDonald's, got rid of my old threads, transformed myself into Rowan Pohi, and emerged as...
Super Stony!

For some fool reason (the sugar from those two jelly doughnuts?) I felt terrific, which was completely irrational given the reality of my life. How on earth was I going to...

• cough up close to fourteen thousand dollars for tuition?
  
• produce the transcript from Pinon High that Ms. Ryder kept asking for?
  
• stop Seth and Brogan from revealing my true identity?
  
• prevent Riverview High from contacting my father about my absences?
  

Brogan was right: I was royally screwed. My strategy? Stick my head in the sand and refuse to think about it. I was Dr. Denial. A ticking time bomb.

Because of the early release, we followed a shortened schedule that day. In biology, Heather handed me a tightly folded note. It contained spaces to check
yes
or
no,
like on a test.

 

(1) You're coming to my house at 1, right?

Yes ___ No ___

(2) Did you remember your bathing suit?

Yes ___ No ___

(3) (My mother won't be home till 3:45)

 

I marked yes, and yes, and smiled in response to number 3as I handed the note back to her.

When I arrived at
Señor
Backman's class, I found Robin waiting for me. She didn't look happy.

"What's wrong?"

"Remember that necklace I was wearing last week? Well, my English teacher made me take it off. Said there's no jewelry allowed at Whitestone. I couldn't believe it."

I couldn't believe it either, but then I realized I hadn't seen a single kid wearing jewelry.

"I mean, it was a crucifix, for Christ's sake!"

Realizing what she just said, we both burst into laughter.

"Nice one!" I told her.

"Hey, it's early release today," Robin said. "Do you feel like going to the park after school? We could study Spanish or something."

I was intrigued about the
or something
part. "Well, uh, I can't." I tried not to sound guilty. "I'm kind of busy today. Maybe we can do it another time, okay?"

Robin looked like she had expected me to say no.

"No worries," she murmured, and we both ducked into the classroom.

They didn't have regular lunch but I was starving, so I bought a mini-pizza in the dining room. There were plenty of empty tables, so I claimed one and started to eat. I had taken only one bite when I saw them. Seth approached, with Brogan a half a step behind.

"Yo, 'Rowan Pohi.'" It was oh-so-clever the way Seth put air quotes around the name. He sat directly across the table from me. Brogan took the seat to my left, which made me feel surrounded, hemmed in.

"Go sit somewhere else," I told him.

Brogan smiled. "But I want to be close to you."

"If you don't move," I warned, "I'm going to smear pizza sauce all over that nice clean T-shirt. I will do it."

Reluctantly, he got up and moved next to Seth.

"So?" Seth asked. "What will it be, Bobby?"

I didn't see any point in wasting time or playing dumb. "I'm not paying you nothing."

"That's a double negative," Seth observed.

I gave him a level look. "You're damn right it is."

Seth sighed. "Then I guess I'll talk to Dr. LeClerc."

"Why are you messing with my life, you asshole?" Roughly, I pushed back my chair. "I didn't do anything to you."

Seth leaned forward. The acne on his right cheek made a pattern that looked familiar, like one of those star constellations, possibly Cassiopeia.

"Your problem is you really believe you're living in a fairy tale," Seth said quietly. "A once-upon-a-time story. There's a brave knight fighting against all odds. A brave knight wearing a disguise so nobody knows who he really is. That's you. You climbed a magic beanstalk and discovered a whole new magical world. That's Whitestone. There's even a pretty princess with long blond hair, sort of like Goldilocks, only much hotter."

"She has nice, er, hands," Brogan put in, cupping his hands about a foot away from his chest.

"Shut up," I told him.

"But with any fairy tale there's got to be trouble too," Seth continued. "Little Red Riding Hood is just another boring story until the Big Bad Wolf comes along, right? Every story needs a bad guy. That's me. I'm the bad guy."

I blinked at him. "You're mangling your fairy tales."

Seth smirked. He was enjoying himself.

"I'm real good at that. Mangling things. It's my specialty."

"Well, you're wasting your breath," I told him. "I've got nothing to say."

Seth cracked his knuckles. "Me too. I'm done talking. Wednesday at noon is your deadline. You pay me ten bucks by Wednesday at lunch, or I walk into LeClerc's office and tell him the truth. It's real simple. You've got two choices, Bobby Steele. Pay or go away."

I glared at him. "So you'd rat me out."

Seth flashed an evil smile. "In a heartbeat."

I shook my head. "No."

Seth stood and gazed down at me. "Then you're gone."

I had no choice but to try a different direction. With a Herculean effort, I manufactured a sympathetic smile.

"C'mon, Seth, you don't want to do this. Why would you want to get me kicked out of Whitestone? You're better than this. You are."

Seth seemed to find this idea amusing. He glanced over at his friend. "Is he right, Bro? Am I better than this?"

Brogan chuckled. "Nope."

"Rowan?"

Ms. Ryder. The woman was standing in front of the table.

I swallowed. "Yes?"

"Dr. LeClerc would like to see you in his office."

"Me?"

"He said it's important." She noticed my pizza, which I'd barely touched. "Do you want to finish your lunch first?"

"No, that's okay. I'll be right there."

"Ooooh, Bobby's busted!" Brogan murmured as Ms. Ryder walked away.

When I entered his office, Dr. LeClerc stood and motioned to a seat across from his desk. I sank into the leather chair, gripping the padded arms like they were lifelines. I noticed that Ms. Ryder had stayed in the office, standing at a discreet distance behind me and to the right.

My heart was hammering.

Breathe,
I told myself.
Breathe.

"Do you know why we called you here?" LeClerc asked.

"No."

"Well, we have some news for you, Rowan." The white-haired man gazed at me thoughtfully. Then his face broke into a sudden grin. "You won the writing scholarship!"

I was stunned. "I did?"

LeClerc reached out and grabbed my right hand. "The committee thought the essay you wrote was truly outstanding. We were all impressed by both your command of the language and the depth and passion of your ideas. Congratulations!"