Chapter Nine:
Hit Me with Your Best Slingshot
I balanced on the tree branch and wrapped my fingers around the rough rope.
The Clairmonts watched from the riverbank below.
I could do it. I knew I could. I squeezed the rope tighter, my heart pounded harder in my chest, and I took a deep breath. With a war cry, I jumped from my perch and swung through the air like Tarzan, except I had to do a little more than swing from tree to tree. I had to flip all the way over before landing in the river. I’d never done it before, but I told the Clairmonts I could, so there was no backing out.
The rope reached its peak faster than I expected.
Now or never.
Pulling my knees into my chest, I let the rope lift me up. I leaned backward and saw the water underneath me. I was upside down. All I had to do was finish the flip.
Tummy tight, I whipped my feet over my head and let go. Woohoo. I sailed down toward the river.
Splash. The icy water engulfed me. My lower right rib stung a little. I emerged, gulped air, and let the current carry me to solid ground. I waved to a couple of rafts floating by, then hiked back toward the rope swing.
My family may have had a townhouse and a tiny backyard, but with a park and a river just across the street, I wouldn’t give up my little home in the Boise greenbelt for the biggest of mansions.
“All right.” Grant gave me a pound on the back when I reached him.
I was pretty proud of myself actually.
Grant was a teenager and he couldn’t even do what I did.
“That was some tricky gazpacho,” said Austin.
I lifted my eyebrows. “Where did you learn that word?”
“Gazpacho?” Austin asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s a bad word. I heard Chance use it the other day.” He shot me an evil grin.
From in the distance came the familiar melody of Dan, Dan, the Ice Cream Man’s truck.
Grant grabbed his shoes. “Come on, guys. Let’s go get ice cream.”
I sat on the ground, holding my side. It throbbed. I fell back into the grass. “I can’t. I don’t have any money.”
And I wouldn’t have any money for a long time. I owed Coach Carpenter fifty dollars for the handle I broke off his wheelchair.
Austin shook his head and water flew everywhere. “Well, why aren’t you working today then?”
“Mom won’t let me. I cracked a rib, remember? She wants me to take it easy.”
Grant laughed. “But she let you go swimming?”
“No.” I repositioned myself so I was sprawled completely in the sun. “I’ve got to stay here until my shorts dry so she won’t find out.” I wasn’t being completely dishonest, was I? It’s not as if I’m telling any lies. I pushed the guilt aside and tried to ignore God.
“Well, see ya around.” Grant took off.
Austin got to his feet, too. “Bye, Joey.”
Baby Clairmont moved a little slower. He had trouble getting his socks on because his feet were still wet. It must be a bummer for him to always be slower and smaller than his brothers. I thought about my experience with Coach Carpenter and my realization that it didn’t matter what your body looked like.
Who cared if I hung out with a smaller kid?
“How old are you?” I asked.
“I’m eleven.”
Last summer I was the age that he was now. He wasn’t a baby at all. He just couldn’t keep up with Grant and Austin, and it made him seem younger.
“What’s your name?”
The kid looked at me suspiciously. “Brady.”
“Brady Clairmont,” I said. “That kinda sounds like Baby Clairmont.”
He made a face. “I like being called Brady better.”
Like how my dad called me Joe. I liked that better than Joey. “Okay.” I smiled.
Brady stood up and wiped the grass off his bum. He gave me a weird look. “Bye,” he said at last.
“Bye, Brady.”
He smiled before running off.
Good deed done for the day. It made me feel a little better about swimming when I wasn’t supposed to. I flung an arm over my face to keep the sun out of my eyes. I let my body sink deeper into the grass and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my skin. I was lucky I only had one cracked rib. When I was finally dry, I headed home.
Nothing to do. No pressure of business for the day. No golf or tennis lessons to attend.
I opened my front door.
Everything was quiet. Christine was at a friend’s house.
Oh, life was perfect. Life was—
Life was interrupted by a flash of color twirling through the backyard. Mom was dancing outside. It was bad enough that she did the cha-cha around the kitchen, but now the neighbors could see her from their second-story windows.
I rushed to the sliding glass door, and my mouth dropped open.
She wasn’t dancing alone.
Her partner was my new Turbo Drench 3000.
Mom sashayed beside her flowerbeds, squirting water into the dirt. Then she leaped over a large rock, shimmied next to a potted plant, and twirled before squirting the roots.
I flung the door open. “Mom.”
“What?” She did a pirouette and lifted my gun—my gun—to water her hanging basket.
“Mom!”
“What?” She mambo’d over to her rosebush.
“Mom!”
Mom gave me a grin. Then, after a running start, she pushed off the ground and sailed Superman-style above the earth. She seemed to float there longer than possible. She didn’t reposition to land on her feet—she was going to break a rib, too—but at the last moment, she reached for the ground with her hands, tucked her chin to her chest, and rolled from a somersault up onto her feet facing me, gun pointing to the sky in a classic secret-agent pose. “Hi,” she said.
I stood there. That was the coolest thing I’d ever seen my mother do. “What was that?”
“That was a dive roll. I could teach you how to do one.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Or you could take gymnastics.”
Oh, no. Not another class. I changed the subject. “Mom, why do you have my new gun?”
Mom looked at the weapon in her hand as if she were surprised to see it. “Oh, our water hose has a hole in it. This came in the mail today, and I figured it would work.”
“No, no, no. I paid for it, Mom.”
“And who paid for golf camp and tennis lessons?”
I groaned. “I never asked you to.”
“Do you know why I signed you up for tennis? Because Chance’s mom told me not to. She said you would create a ruckus.”
My rib throbbed again. Chance’s mom was right. I was full of hijinks that caused ruckuses.
Mom put her arm around me. “I just want you to find something that you are good at other than causing trouble.”
I closed my eyes. I was good at having fun. Why did parents always confuse having fun with causing trouble?
Still holding my gun, Mom ushered me into the house. “That’s why we should sign you up for gymnastics.”
I sunk into a chair at the table. “I’m not good at sports. They’re hard for me. I hate them.”
Mom sat down across from me. “I think gymnastics would be different. You would get to jump and tumble and flip through the air. You know, kind of like those girls on the flying trapeze at the circus.”
She did make it sound exciting. And what about my little flip off the rope swing? Maybe I would be good at gymnastics. “I don’t know.”
Mom held up the Turbo Drench. “I’ll give you your gun back.”
I narrowed my eyes. That was so not fair. “Fine.”
Mom’s face lit up like it did when she was on stage in the spotlight. “Goody.” She placed my gun on the table and slid it over to me.
I caressed it, running my hand along the plastic yellow barrel. Solemnly, I lifted it into my arms.
It was huge.
I hugged it to
me. Parker hadn’t messed up after all. “Where’s my slingshot?”
Mom shook her head. “It didn’t come today.”
“But I ordered them together.”
Mom shrugged. She was already online looking up the number for the gymnastics center. “You could see if the Lancasters have it.”
Parker did mess up.
I imagined myself hurling water balloons at his windshield. Or I could squirt him with Kool-Aid and get him all sticky.
Hopefully it would get him to quit his job. He was a terrible mailman.
I tensed as I walked down the sidewalk to Isabelle’s front door. I hated having to ask her for something. Maybe her mom would answer the door. Maybe not.
Isabelle swung the door open but didn’t say anything. One skinny eyebrow lifted in a challenge.
“Hi.” I cleared my throat. “Did you guys get a package in the mail for me today?”
Isabelle didn’t move. “What’s in it?”
I scowled. “None of your business.”
“If you want to get it back, it is.”
“It’s a bunch of slugs.”
“You don’t scare me. I’ve licked a slug before.”
That was gross, but I was jealous. Was I the only one in the world who hadn’t licked a slug? “All right, it’s a water balloon slingshot.”
“Cool.” Isabelle looked as if she was about to slam the door in my face so she could go play with my new toy.
“Can I have it?”
Isabelle cocked her head to one side. “What do I get in return?”
“You can get out of my way.” Steam must have been coming out of my ears like cartoon characters when they got mad.
Dan, Dan, the Ice Cream Man’s truck rolled past our houses, the familiar tune tinkling through the air.
“Buy me an ice cream cone.”
“Look, I don’t have any money.” And I had to buy ice cream for Chance if I lost the bet …
That was it!
“I do have a secret I can tell you.”
Isabelle’s eyes got big. “Okay. What’s your secret?”
“You’ll give me my slingshot?”
“Yes. What’s the secret?”
So I told her. Well, not everything. I certainly didn’t tell her about the kiss.