Chapter Ten

Lia + Ophelia

 

I hate this principal. I didn’t before, but I do now. Did Mr. Nazari really say we have to both volunteer at the Piggy Palooza Festival—that crap event I have been trying to avoid?

Slowly, I let the anger seep back down before I go all Hulk style again, but this time on the principal. I don’t want to end up in jail today.

“We agree,” Kiev says in answer to Mr. Nazari’s punishment.

I want to say we didn’t agree to anything, Kiev, but I nod my head, trying to avoid Kiev’s face. The guilt is already seeping in from striking him.

Mr. Nazari taps the end of his pointy nose, like he’s just become a millionaire. “This means we have all the volunteers we need—it’s actually a win-win.” His eyes narrow on the both of us. “And”—he holds up a finger like it’s his personal wand—“if you two don’t show up, you’ll both be suspended for three days and afterschool detention for a month.”

I kind of think I’d like to go with the second choice, but my mom would be livid.

“We’ll be there,” Kiev answers. Again, he’s answering with the “we” stuff, and he needs to stop. We’re not running for an election here.

“Good. I’ll make sure of it, and you’re going to need your parents to sign these slips and return them.” Mr. Nazari fills out two short forms and hands them to us, and explains where we need to check in when we get to the festival each day. With one swift hand motion, he dismisses us back to class.

Looking up at the large circular clock above his head, I see we only have a few minutes left before the bell rings. There’s really no point to head back to class now. I lift my backpack over my shoulders, shuffle past Kiev, and head out the door.

His shoes make a soft squeak behind me, so I whip around to face him. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t … what’s in your nose?” I tilt my head to the side and see two white plugs that look incredibly similar to female products. “Did you stuff tampons in your nose?”

Kiev rolls his eyes at the ceiling and runs a hand through his thick, light-brown hair. “Yes, Lia, I stuffed tampons in my nose, so the bleeding would stop. Remember the blood?”

Laughing, I say, “What? You really put tampons in your nose?”

Shaking his head, he whisper-shouts, “No, that was called sarcasm, and I didn’t put tampons in my nose. The nurse did. Well, not actual tampons, but nose plugs.”

“Whatever you say, Kiev.” I shrug.

“Whatever, Lia. You got us into this whole mess, and now we have to work at this stupid festival. I do have better things to do, you know?”

“What? Like hang out with your pervy friend who you shouldn’t have let sit in my seat to begin with?”

He lets out a long sigh. “He was there before class had even started.”

“So? It’s still my seat. And no, this is all your fault.” Really, it’s mostly my fault since I did punch him, but he still started it.

A grin spreads across his face, and I want to smack it away. I slide my hands into my pockets just in case I decide to go hostile again.

His eyes slide down to my blue shirt. And, is he looking at my boobs? No, that would be Cole who’s the pervy one. Or who knows? They probably both are. I tug at the edge of the fabric just thinking about it. “I’m glad you found another shirt,” he murmurs softly. Oh, right, that’s why he’s looking at my shirt.

“Yeah.” The shirt feels really tight, but other than that it works.

Nodding, he asks, “Seriously, why did you hit me, though?”

Why did I hit him? “Oh, because you said Kiev was the capital of Russia all douchebag like.”

“You mean Ukraine,” he points out with a small smile.

“Damn it, Kiev.” I don’t get as fired up as last time, but I’m still annoyed. Before he responds, the bell rings. “I gotta go.”

He gives me an unreadable expression, and I whirl away before things get even more awkward.

When I turn down the hall, I find Sophie at her locker, her curly hair bouncing as she maneuvers through her backpack. I pull her locker the rest of the way open, and my attention flies to the photo taped on the inside of the metal door.

“You have a picture of Brandon Lee from The Crow?” I can’t believe she even knows what that movie is. It’s a cute picture, too—he’s all in tight black, bird on shoulder—nice.

Sophie’s doll eyes open and seem to explode with glitter with the glee that crosses her face. “I love that movie. He was ultimate perfection. Such a shame.” Okay, she just got a hundred times cooler in my book. “You know who he reminds me of?”

I close my eyes and think about it for a moment. “Bruce Lee?” Since he was Brandon’s dad.

Sophie’s hands come together in prayer form. “Barnabas.” Okay, she just killed the cool points.

“Is that why you have such a huge crush on him?” I don’t think Barnabas dresses anywhere near as good as Brandon Lee did in The Crow. I mean, he shops at freaking Hot Topic—thankfully, he isn’t wearing those pants today.

“It’s one of the reasons!” Well, at least she has a semi-good reason for her infatuation.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for letting me borrow the shirt. I’ll bring it back to you tomorrow.”

Earlier, I was sitting inside the school office waiting for Kiev after the punching incident, and Sophie bounced into the room to turn something in for her teacher. When she whipped around to see the bloody handprint on my t-shirt, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Is that paint?” Before I could twist out of the way, she dodged forward and sniffed my shirt like a hound. “That’s blood,” she stated, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

“Yeah,” was all I had said. She then darted out of the office and flew back in with a tight blue shirt that was a size too small, but it fit well enough when I changed into it.

Now, Sophie waves a hand in the air. “No problem! If you ever need anything else, just come to my locker.”

I peer inside to see one book sitting on the top shelf, and the rest of her locker is filled with clothing, makeup, and … a Slinky?

“Why do you have that?” I reach in and pull the silver Slinky halfway up and then let it crinkle back down.

“A stress reliever of course.” She gets stressed? I wouldn’t have guessed that with her bubbly attitude.

“Okay, well I’ve got to get to class.” The clock on the wall shows I have two minutes left, and I don’t want to get in any more trouble today.

“See you in third period.” She waves goodbye.

I nod at her because maybe Sophie isn’t so bad.

Sophie sits with me and Barnabas again, while I relay the incident in full of what happened before first period. Since she’s volunteering at the festival already, Sophie’s excited about me having to do the Piggy Palooza stint. Barnabas just laughs while I glower at him.

The rest of the day, I manage to not run into Kiev or his crony, Cole.

Barnabas is waiting for me at the end of the hallway to head out from school, wearing tighter black jeans today that seem to match a little closer to Sophie’s Crow picture in her locker—now that I think about it.

“I just saw your best friend.” Barnabas gives me a side smile.

My eyebrows lower. “He’s standing right here.”

“Nah, your new best friend, Kiev.”

I give him a playful shove and scrunch up my face. “Knock it off.”

“His nose still looks pretty bad. I gave him my condolences, and he said to make sure I keep my beast tamed.” He throws his hand up and whips at the air.

“What?” I hiss.

Barnabas shakes my arm. “Kidding. He said he was fine.”

I still can’t believe I punched someone in the face. I mean, seriously, with my actual fist. Even when I’m mad at people, I usually do the trash-talking in my head instead of out loud. At least that is courteous.

My phone beeps, and I pull it out of my backpack to check it.

Mom: Home. Now.

“Uh oh,” Barnabas whispers as he gazes over my shoulder at the text. “Mommy must have gotten contacted instead of the Daddies.”

I was planning on just having Dad sign the form, because he wouldn’t have been mad or at least as mad.

When we get home from school, I tell Barnabas I’ll text him later and walk to my apartment, practically hearing dun, dun, dun. I’m not sure where the stupid song originated from, but it’s annoying.

Before I reach the last step, Mom swings open the door. “Ophelia Jeanette, you get your butt in here this instant.”

I roll my eyes. “Mom, I was already about to walk in the door.”

“How do I know that? Since you have this new breaking-the-law complex going on,” she screeches, her green eyes blazing.

“Mom, can we calm down until I get inside?” It’s embarrassing. I’m sure Barnabas can see it from his apartment with a pair of binoculars in hand, while eating awesome Cambodian food from Mrs. Lao that I should be eating right now.

Mom steps aside, and I hurry through the door, laying my backpack down beside the couch. “So, this is what hap—”

“What happened?” Mom’s shrill tone puts me on edge.

“Mom, calm down. This is why I wanted to tell Dad.”

That apparently was the wrong thing to say. She runs a hand through her brown pixie cut. “Oh, so you wanted to tell Dad and Dom.” After Dad left Mom for Dom, she’s hated men ever since. Well, she doesn’t really loathe Dad and Dom. Mom gets along with them fine now, but she likes to be the one in charge.

I avoid her stare. “They wouldn’t have overreacted.”

Mom purses her lips. “I’m overreacting? The principal calls me and says you were accused of assaulting some boy. There wasn’t enough evidence for suspension, but now you have to do community service?”

“No, Mom. I don’t know why he’s calling it that. It’s volunteering at Piggy Palooza.”

Her pursed lips begin to relax. “Oh. That’s not so bad, then.”

“It is,” I whine.

“Did you really punch this kid?” Her face is in full scowl mode.

“I did. But, he was being ridiculous. I didn’t mean to punch him—it just happened.”

“Well, what did he do? Was he trying to force you into doing things?” Mom becomes even more livid.

“Gross, Mom. No. Not that it’s gross to do things.” Her eyebrows shoot up, so I hurry on, “But I wouldn’t know.”

“Go on,” she insists.

I rub at my temples. “This jerk at school keeps calling me Miss Ophelia, so I told him to stop. The other guy named Kiev asked me if I was named after Ophelia from Hamlet, and I was like, who names their kids after some stupid play? Then I said who the heck names their kid after the capitol of Russia, and Kiev said it’s Ukraine. Then kapow. My fist wasn’t thinking, Mom.”

Mom shoots me a hard stare and then starts to laugh, not a small laugh either. But it’s one of those silent laughs with no sound escaping, like she can barely breathe. Then the witch cackling or whatever the heck it is takes form. I’ve seen her laugh heavily maybe one time in my life—it’s usually small little grunts.

“What, Mom?”

She holds up a finger and wraps her other arm around her stomach and leans over to laugh more. “Hold on.”

“Mom, it’s not even funny.” I frown because it really isn’t.

Finally, she stands up and takes several deep breaths. “Oh, Ophelia, Ophelia, Ophelia.”

“Not you, too.” Mom hasn’t called me that in years besides when I walked through the door earlier.

Mom places a hand on my shoulder. “You were named after the Hamlet play.”

I rip my shoulder out of Mom’s grasp. “What? You never told me that.” I know Mom has a whole collection of Shakespeare plays, but I never put two and two together.

“I didn’t?”

“No,” I grumble.

“Now you know.” She appears slightly sorry. “But, it sounds like you should probably study up on geography.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “You probably didn’t know the answer either.”

“Well, I’m not a geography major either, and I didn’t punch anyone in the face.” She pauses for a millisecond. “You’re also grounded.”

“You know I’ll be at Dad’s the whole weekend. He’s got a bacon contest to worry about.” That means I won’t be grounded.

“I’ll talk to him. You can start by doing chores now.”

I nod my head because I deserve it.

After sweeping, mopping, and vacuuming, Mom sends me over to my dads’ apartment to get the rest of my punishment.

Dad swings open the door after I knock and lets me in, his auburn hair not in pristine condition today. His polo collar is popped up, and he needs to pop it back down.

“You all right, Dad?” His hair is usually slicked back except before bedtime after his shower.

“He’s making himself sick with this bacon,” Dom yells from the kitchen, hovering over the stove and flipping strips of bacon.

“Before I head back to the bacon station,” Dad starts, “your mom told me you got in trouble at school for punching a boy in the face. You know that’s wrong.” He presses his lips together to hide a smile. I’m sure if I had punched a girl, it would be a whole different scenario.

“They don’t know I punched him, and I didn’t mean to. He just kept running his mouth, and now we have to do volunteer work at Piggy Palooza.”

“That’s it? Your mom was all freaking out. I told her you were going to be grounded this weekend. I’ll let you pick something to be grounded from, so it’s not technically a lie. But, if we ever get fined for something like this, your jail cell will be that room over there”—his index finger points to my room—“with no Nintendo.” You know those movies where you hear slow motion on certain words? I hear it in this moment—I even shiver thinking of the thought.

“If he just wouldn’t have said I was named after Ophelia in Hamlet, and if Mom would have let me in on the little secret, that would have helped.”

“Hamlet?” Dad’s eyebrows crinkle with perplexity.

“Yes!”

“I’ve only read Julius Caesar, which was terrible, by the way. Your mom must have kept that secret from me, too.” He shrugs.

“Bacon’s ready, Alex,” Dom calls from the kitchen. Dad flinches at the word bacon, but then he counts to five to pump himself up.

for four days at Piggy Palooza, too.