asks me as the bus rolls over the speed bumps—another slam to my teeth—and pulls out of the school lot. “I don’t have my flute lesson until four-thirty.”
“Can’t. I’m going to beg Geraldine to let me off at Walmart.” I raise my voice so the driver hears me. “To meet my mom for a quick shop.”
Lizzie stares at me. “You’re going to homecoming.”
“What? How did you get that out of me meeting my mom at Walmart?”
“I figure you’re getting a dress and holding out on me.”
I snort. “At Walmart? Jeez, Zie, I know the real estate market is sucky and my mom hasn’t sold a house in two months and my dad barely makes minimum wage at RadioShack, but even we Nutters have some standards.”
“Puh-lease.” She gives an apologetic wave. “As if my mom isn’t always broke.” She waits a beat, searching my face. “But you don’t have a date for homecoming, right?”
As if. “You got nothin’ to worry about, girlfriend. It’s you, me, and the entire season of Degrassi come Saturday night.” I give her a reassuring pat because she truly looks worried. “Trust me, we’re just going to Walmart because my dad needs us to pick up some …” Junk. “Things.”
Lizzie crosses her eyes. “Your dad needs more things like I need more freckles.”
My heart squeezes a little, but this is Lizzie, who knows my every secret. Even how embarrassing the mess at home is getting to be.
“He’s working on an amazing new invention,” I say, the need to defend whacktastic Mel Nutter rising up in me.
“Really? What could possibly top the button you could press on the toilet-paper thingie so that you automatically get the exact same amount of sheets every time?”
“The Rip-Off?” I sigh with a mix of amusement and shame. Really, mostly amusement over that one. “Of course he didn’t like my idea for a name.”
“Even though it was pure genius,” she adds, ever the supportive friend. “The name and the idea.”
“Sadly, no one in the world wanted the Rip-Off. But this one? He’s being secretive about it, so it might be good.”
“Whatever happened to last summer’s Flip-Flop Beach Buddy?” she asks.
“Emphasis on flop,” I tell her, the memory still vivid: a double beach towel with corner holder-downers disguised as flip-flops to keep it in the sand. “Well, nobody wanted that, either, because it really wasn’t much different from a blanket held down by, well, flip-flops. Plus …” I angle my head toward the window. “There’s a serious beach shortage in Pittsburgh.”
Lizzie nods knowingly, and I love her for not passing judgment on my dad, who is spurred on by his overactive imagination and the desire to invent a household item that will merit a blue-screen TV commercial. The Snuggie. The Ped Egg. The ShamWow. Someday, Mel Nutter will punch the RadioShack time clock for good and own the infomercial world.
As we near the Walmart intersection, I lean forward. Getting Geraldine to make an unscheduled stop depends on her mood, which seems good enough today. Otherwise, I’ll have to backtrack a half mile, and it’s cold out there. “Any chance you can drop me at the light, Geraldine?”
She nods, probably listening to our conversation and pitying me. “You bet, Annie.” She shoots a look in the rearview at the noisy kids in the back. “Let’s make it quick and safe, though.”
“You got it.” I look in her mirror, too, but the angle just gives me a view of my own face, which so doesn’t belong in the back of the bus with the cool kids. Frizzy, flyaway hair that lovely color of a brown paper bag—which would be helpful to own right now, so I could cover the eruption of Mount Vesuvius on my cheek. I try to smile, but this morning’s visit to the orthodontist makes even that feeble effort almost impossible.
“Sure you can’t ditch the flute lesson?” I ask as I zip my jacket. “Mom’s taking me to Eat’n Park, and you know she’d love to have you, too.”
“Sorry, I can’t miss my lesson. Have a Superburger for me.”
“Will do.” I stand as the bus slows, and instantly complaints explode from the back.
“Why the hell are we stopping here?” The noisy demand is followed by an outburst of rude questions and comments, full of false indignation and snorts of laughter.
Geraldine ignores the kids in the back and starts to weave her big yellow beast through traffic.
“Hey!” In the mirror, I can see Shane Matthews stand up, a fist in the air like some