1. Wire and Words #5
"I've got that new red skirt, and I'll borrow Mom's fancy brown blouse for the stem. It'll be fun."
"That sounds cool." It really did, and brown looked good with Matilda's hair and skin.
The bus wheezed to a stop, and Matilda started down the steps as the door slid open.
HOOONK! Roaaarrrr. The driver of the black pickup gunned his engine and flipped off the bus as he raced by.
Matilda looked four times, then jumped the last step and bolted across the road to her gate.
Claire trotted to the house after opening the shields.
How was the rabbit doing? Had it gone to the vet?
Could they still eat it if it was sick but got better?
She let herself in, changed clothes, and went out to check on the rabbit.
It was still off by itself, but half the food in the hutch was gone.
The doe seemed lonely, or was that just how her fur pattern worked?
The other rabbits all had food and water, so she went back inside and fixed tea.
Just as the kettle whistled, she caught sight of Dad Jude carrying an apple basket.
She poured the water, then put her shoes back on and went out to help.
"Thank you. There are four more by the walnut stump." She opened the yard gate for him, then hurried into the woodlot.
"Ooh, these are full." No wonder he moved carefully.
She picked up the closest basket and toted it to the gravel spot beside the shed.
Dad Jude had already left his and was on his way back to the woodlot, so she followed.
Which basket was heavier? She grabbed that one, lifting with her knees.
"Mr. Zehner will be happy," she said as she started back toward the house.
"Yes, he will. So will Aunt Lucy. That basket has the cooking apples that Chef DeBoer asked for."
People paid a lot for apples from really old trees, and the man who owned the fancy local-food restaurant paid even more.
She set that basket off to the side, away from the other two, and went back to get the last one.
Dad Jude had set his down. He frowned at his weak hand, flexing it as much as he could.
He wore his padded brown half glove over his usual one, so Aunt Lucy wouldn't fuss at him.
A harsh voice called from overhead, "I told you to take another basket or use the wagon.
" Dad Jude made what looked like a rude hand sign toward the sky and got a rude sound in return.
She held her grin inside until she was way away from the Familiar and mage.
The last basket wasn't as heavy, just awkward. Dad Jude closed the gates behind her. "Thank you. The lull between fruit storms seems to be over."
"Yes, sir. Do these have to wait until Saturday to go to town?"
"Yes. I'll take the basket for Mr. DeBoer tomorrow, but the rest go on Saturday. The schedule changed last week." He sounded resigned as he removed the half glove. "We can move them into the garage this evening, after any passengers wander off."
Aunt Lucy did not like finding more creepy-crawlies in the garage—and in her car—than usual. "Yes, sir. The tea is ready."
"Good! How was your day?"
"I got an A on the government quiz. Chemistry was OK, and we had a fire drill during math class."
"Chinese or regular?" Mr. Shoim called from the rim of the bird bath.
A what? Oh, that. "Regular, sir. The teachers don't let us run laps around the building, then go back inside."
"Well, phooey." Splash.
She went in before she heard Dad Jude's sigh. He sighed a lot at his Familiar. Aunt Lucy said that most mages in this part of the state did. Living with a Familiar took the fun out of the fiction books.
The house phone rang that evening after supper.
She ignored it. Only salesmen or the county ag agent called the house.
Whoever put letters in math ... inspired uncharitable thoughts and unkind words.
She finished the last two quadratic equations, then put everything in her backpack.
Miss Hinshaw had not been happy with the review, so they'd gotten more review before adding new stuff.
Tap, tap. She turned around in her chair. Aunt Lucy leaned into the room. "That was Mrs. Schnell, Tim's mother. She wanted to know what time your uncle will drop you off at their house before the dance on Saturday?"
"Um, I'm not going to the dance, ma'am. Tim told me yesterday that I was going, and for Uncle Jude to bring me to the Schnell's house first. He left before I could say no." This wasn't good, very not good.
"Do you want to go, Claire?"
She shook her head so hard her hair flopped. "No, ma'am. I didn't have fun at the last one, and the theme is 'apples.' I think I'll be appled out by then."
"Not as much as your uncle will be, but I understand." She smiled. "Tell Tim no tomorrow, please, and I will call them back in the evening. AJ, where are you— No you don't!"
She heard giggles and the sound of small feet running as Aunt Lucy hurried away. "Young man, do you want the cat to lick you dry?" She got up and closed her door. AJ had gotten loose after his bath.
Again.
Two-n-Jenn glared from across the study hall classroom the next morning. Why? Was it the government grades? Only two people had gotten As, or so Matilda had said. Or was it something with the dance? Whatever, it would not get the algebra homework done. She went back to graphing the equation.
As soon as the bell rang, Jenn grabbed her. "I'm supposed to go to the dance with Tim, not you." She scowled, angry.
"Then go. I have stuff I have to do that night." She twisted her arm, breaking Jenn's grip and getting away.
Crash, tweeeet! "No running in the halls." Coach Schneider's bellow filled the hallway and sent everyone scurrying for cover.
"Someone's in trouble," a younger student hissed to his buddy.
"Big trouble."
No joke. "Yeah. The whistle's bad news," she hissed in turn, then dove into the art room. Everyone knew what that meant. A detention at least, if the kid was lucky.
She'd barely set her tray onto the dirty tray stack after eating when Tim Schnell grabbed at her. She sidestepped.
"You said you were coming to the dance with me," he said, face red. He got between her and the door.
"No. You said I was, then left before I could say no." She started edging sideways. If she could get around him, she could outrun him and hide. Mrs. Schouten would be in her classroom.
Carl came up behind Tim. "Her uncle gave my brother a ticket yesterday for no good reason." He glared at her.
"You think you're special for living with a cop, too good to go out with me? Is that it?" Tim leaned closer, too close. Chairs scraped and trays slid on the closest table as kids scrambled out of the way. The lunchroom started to get quiet.
She spoke louder, slower. "No. I don't want to go to the dance is all." In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. She eased another step toward the exit. "Please go eat your lunch."
"You are going to the dance, with me, or else." The red in his face went white and he grabbed for her.
She ducked, stepped sideways and tried to run. A hard hand closed on her arm and yanked. She turned, closed, and kicked the side of his leg as she tried to break his grip.
"Ow! Bitch!" Tim staggered, let go, and grabbed at his knee instead.
Carl snatched a tray off the rack and threw it at her. She ducked.
Thump. "My shirt!" a girl yelped.
"That's your fault," Carl snarled. He surged around Tim, hands open, reaching for her.
She blocked, base of her hand right hand hitting him just under his nose.
"Uuugh!"
She ducked, dodged out of his way, then ran for Mr. Pietersoon.
"Come back here, bitch!" Oh, Tim's voice carried as she skidded to a stop. The lunchroom monitor came toward her. Tim yelled, "She started it."
Mr. Pietersoon scowled and she cringed down, being small. "We'll see. First, all three of you, come with me."
"And me." Coach Schneider marched up beside the boys. Blood ran from Carl's nose, and Tim limped. "Nurse first, you two."
"Don't let her lie," Tim said, with a gulp. "Her fake uncle's a cop, so she knows how to lie and get people in trouble."
That made no sense. And her hand stung. She glanced down. No blood, but she had tomato sauce on her shirt. Aunt Lucy would not be happy. Neither would Uncle Jude, or Uncle Paul. And maybe Mr. Mutti, too.
"... Since Mr. Tainuit was off duty, and is not a uniform deputy, it was not Claire's uncle who gave your brother the ticket, Mr. Weber." Deputy Holzclaw sounded irritated.
"The problem is that the girl led my son on. This is her fault, not Tim's," Mr. Schnell grumbled. He sounded a lot like Tim, but not as whiny.
She shook her head but didn't talk. Now wasn't the time, not with so many unhappy adults in the room. Her churning stomach and shaking hands didn't help.
"That is not what the camera footage from the cafeteria shows, Mr. Schnell, Mrs. Weber.
" Coach Schneider nodded to Carl's mother.
"Miss Taylor tried to get away. The boys grabbed for her, she tried again, then defended herself and ran for help.
Miss McDowell was hit by the tray thrown by Mr. Weber. "
Mr. Flemming, the principal, folded his arms. "Miss Taylor, what did you say to Mr. Schnell?"
How would Dad Jude speak? She said, slow and clear, "I said I was not going to the dance, sir.
On Tuesday he told me I was, and left before I could say no.
I do not want to go to the dance." Her voice shook a little, less than the rest of her shook.
"Today he said I would go with him or else.
I refused, and tried to get away sirs, ma'am. That's when he grabbed me."