Quid Pro Quo (3 page)

I knew they were all just interested in Kendall, but c'mon! I wasn't going to miss my chance. Not all girls go for the tall, good-looking, cool, athletic guys. For one thing, there aren't that many to go around. And for two, there wouldn't be any skinny, funny, short guys alive today if our skinny, funny, short grandfathers hadn't been able to get a girl now and again. My entire species would have died out.

So I started telling Kendall stories in this really loud voice about all the losers who hung around Atula's. He laughed about Darlene and Freddie fighting over who gets the singing fish trophy when the divorce goes through—so all the girls started laughing too. I figured I was golden. Pretty soon they'd all have the hots for me, and I'd have to bribe them to show Kendall a little attention now and then. I just had to keep them laughing long enough that no one noticed I was built like a Chihuahua.

So I started telling Kendall about Marge Whynot and her handicapped son Toby, who's like thirty and always wants to go feed the duckies. I thought Kendall would find that hilarious, especially when I started doing that whimpering thing Toby does. I was licking my lips and slapping my leg and going, “Please,

Mama, pleeeeeease!” and Dorianne and Alexa were killing themselves laughing until Kendall went, “Would you quit it? Would you just lay off?”

I was still thinking I was so funny that it took me a second to realize he meant me. The girls all stopped so fast I had this feeling I'd just imagined them laughing. I was left standing there with this stupid smile on my face that would have made an amoeba look like a genius in comparison.

I think I said, “sorry,” maybe, or “I was only kidding,” and then Kendall said something like, “I just don't find it that funny. He's happy. He likes to feed the ducks. So what?” The girls all looked at Kendall with these big, sad eyes. I knew they were thinking, Not only is he tall, good-looking, athletic and cool—he's really, really sweet too.

They looked at me like I'd just kicked a kitten into oncoming traffic.

I felt like garbage. I couldn't believe what a jerk I was. Like what kind of pig would make fun of Toby? But Kendall just put his helmet back on like nothing happened and said, “C'mon. You going to skateboard or what?” We both went back to working on our moves, and he never mentioned it again.

Do you know what the really sad thing is? If Kendall had gone along with my little joke, I'd still be telling Toby stories right now. Anything for a laugh, eh?

How pathetic is that?

chapter
six
“Accusare nemo se debet”
(Latin)

A legal principle meaning
no one is required to say anything
to incriminate himself or herself

J
ohn Hugh Gillis still reeked and was still lying about where he was on the night of September 17. Elmore Himmelman still gave me the creeps, and frankly I think he'd have been better off in a mental hospital than out on the streets, screaming at people who aren't there and scaring the people who are. Darlene and Freddie still drove me crazy. Stay married or get divorced. I didn't care what they did; I just wanted them to make up their minds and leave us alone.

But after that thing with Kendall down at the skateboard bowl, I wasn't such a jerk about Atula's other clients. I'm not saying I'd want to hang out with any of them—except maybe Mr. Lucas, who was pretty funny for an old guy—but I sort of got to like them in a take 'em or leave 'em kind of way. Most of them were pretty nice. Nicer than me, that's for sure. I mean, I felt really bad about Toby and Marge, especially when they came in with Timbits for everybody one day. I knew they didn't have any money—that's why they were at Atula's, to get more money from the government—but they went out and spent $4.98 on Tim's jumbo variety pack so none of their “friends down to the law office” would go hungry. I felt even worse because I had a bag of jujubes in my top drawer that I had no plans on sharing.

Andy noticed that I was better with the clients and started talking about how I'd “matured” over the summer. She said it in a way that made it sound like she was this really fantastic parent— as if SHE had something to do with it—and that bugged me so much that I almost told her about Kendall. I would have loved to see her face when she found out I only “matured” because Kendall, the guy she hated, thought I was being a jerk. But I'm not that dumb: tell Andy about Kendall and she'd have known that Atula let me go down to the bowl, that I'd been lying to her and, most importantly, that I'd actually managed to have a little fun that summer. She couldn't let that happen.

So I just kept my mouth shut. Things were going pretty good. Andy had the perfect job (she got paid to argue with people). I had some freedom. We had some money.

Too bad things couldn't stay that way.

chapter
seven
Malpractice

The failure to perform
professional services competently

W
e were playing Scrabble one night, and even though I was seriously beating her, Andy was in a really good mood. She'd just been to the official opening of this new Immigration Resource Center. She was making it sound like she was so happy because the center was finally built. Because needy people would finally have a place to go, someone to help them.

Yeah, right.

If that was her only reason, how come Andy was going on and on about her and Atula getting driven there personally by the center's honorary chair and getting to sit at the head table and having him thank her by name in his little speech and BLAH BLAH BLAH?

I'll tell you why.

Because it made her feel important. Like she was a big shot. A VIP (which of course she was—“Very Insane Person”). Can't you just imagine how much Andy loved stepping out of the guy's big green BMW just as James Monihan and those other stuck-up dorks from her law school class were arriving at the ceremony? It must have been one of the best things that ever happened to her. James goes to work at some fancy law firm while Andy goes to work at Atula's, but she's the one pulling up in a BMW! Life doesn't get much better than that.

I knew that's what she was thinking, but I pretended I didn't. I nodded at all the right places and acted like I was interested— then, when she least expected it, I put “defunct” down on a triple word score. Eighty-nine points, not counting the ten I got for turning “ax” into “tax.” She might get to sit at the head table, but that didn't matter to the Undisputed King of Scrabble.

That sure wiped the smile off her face. There was no way she was going to catch up now. Unless, of course, she cheated.

Suddenly she was insisting that I go check the mailbox immediately.

I knew it was only so she could see what other letters were left in the bag, and I said so. She, of course, was appalled.

Cheat?

Andy?

Why it was the furthest thing from her mind! She just forgot to look in the mailbox that day, and she needed to find out if the War Amps had sent her keys back yet.

That sure wiped the smile off my face.

I couldn't believe it. Andy had lost another stupid set of keys! She was worse than a kid. She was so disorganized! What was the matter with her? She was always losing things, forgetting stuff, making a mess of our life. How was she ever going to be a real lawyer if she couldn't keep track of anything?

I'm not kidding. It's serious. If a lawyer loses a piece of evidence or forgets to file a document by a certain time or doesn't show up at a hearing, she can get in really big trouble. She can lose her case. She can get sued for malpractice. She can screw up bad enough that she gets disbarred and can't work as a lawyer anymore.

I knew it was just a set of keys, but it really worried me. I didn't want Andy to mess up again. I didn't want to go back to her babysitting and being unhappy all the time.

I didn't want to go back to us being just this juvenile delinquent mother and her loser kid.

I knew if she saw my face she'd know exactly what I was thinking, and I really didn't want to get into that with her right then. I took the bag of Scrabble tiles—so she couldn't pick out the good letters—and went to check the mail.

I opened the door to our apartment and practically swallowed my tongue. There was this longhaired guy right in front of me with his hand in our mailbox.

chapter
eight
Tampering with the mail

An offence under the Criminal Code

T
he guy was probably as surprised as I was, but he just went, “Hey. Yo,” like it was no big deal to be rooting through someone else's mail.

I said, “What do you think you're doing?” Andy was in the kitchen so I could sound as tough as I wanted.

He gave this big smile, and I knew right away that he considered himself a very charming guy. “Oh, sorry, man. Just making sure I was in the right place.” He handed me the War Amps envelope, like he was doing me a favor, and said, “Did you lose your keys?” I rolled my eyes. Did he really think that if he just kept talking, I'd forget he was trying to steal our mail?

I guess so.

He kept yammering on. “Great little service the War Amputees provides, eh? You buy a tag from them for your key chain. You lose your keys. Somebody finds them, throws them into any old mailbox and the War Amps send them back to you! You get your keys and some poor guy without an arm or a leg gets some help. Pretty amazing, eh?”

I shook my head and snorted to show what a jerk he was. “Ever think of doing a commercial for them?” I said, all sarcastic. “You'd make a great spokesmodel.”

He laughed at that. “Matter of fact, I have,” he said. “I haven't introduced myself. Byron Cuvelier.”

He stuck his right hand out at me to shake.

That's when I realized he didn't have a right hand.

chapter
nine
“Alias”
(Latin)

A false name

A
ll he had was this kind of lumpy, purplish stump that ended where his wrist should have started. I could see all the scars where they stitched it up. I felt like a complete nosehole. As bad as when I made fun of Toby.

Byron, on the other hand—if you'll pardon the pun—was having a great time. “Oh, sorry,” he went. “I guess I left my hand in my other jacket.” Then he kind of jabbed the stump at me, and I jumped back. That killed him. “Worried I was going to pinch you or something?” Ha ha. “I don't pinch too good since I lost my fingers.”

I sort of smiled and went heh-heh. I figured I had to be nice since I'd been such a jerk about that spokesmodel thing. He said, “Is Squeaky in?”

Squeaky?

“No,” I said. “You got the wrong place.” Thank God.

“Don't think I do,” he said and gave me a big
Entertainment
Tonight
smile. Is there anything more pathetic than some guy in his thirties who thinks he's a rock star?

“Ah … sorry,” I said. “Only me and my mother live here.”

“I know,” he said, “and I want to talk to her. So be a good boy …”

Did I hate this guy or what?

“… and go get Squeaky for me.”

By this time, I wasn't feeling bad about the spokesmodel line anymore. I just wanted to get rid of this piece of garbage.

“Trust me,” I said. “There's no Squeaky here. See?”

I turned around and yelled, “Squeaky! Hey, Squeeeeak-y! You have a gentleman caller!” I looked at Byron and laughed. I was just dying to see what Andy would do to him.

I didn't have to wait long. Andy came flying down the hall and grabbed me with both arms. She squashed my face into her neck. I could feel her shaking.

She whispered, “How'd you find me, Cuvelier?”

chapter
ten
Intimidation

Using violence or threats
to make a person do—or not do—something

W
here there's a will, Brown Eyes, there's a way.” Oh, barf. Byron was really turning on the charm. It was gross—and it wasn't working, either.

“DON'T CALL ME BROWN EYES!” Andy screamed, and a bit of spit splattered on his cheesy, fake leather jacket.

“Okay, Squeaky.”

“DON'T CALL ME SQUEAKY.”

Byron shrugged as if he was only trying his best to please her.

“I'm not sure what to call you anymore, darlin'. Ann? Angela? Andrea? MacKenzie? MacLeod? MacIntyre? What's your pleasure?”She blew up. “My pleasure is that you get your
beeping beep
out of here and stay
the beep
away from me and my
beeping
kid. If I ever see that
beeping
ugly face of yours again, I'm going to call the
beeping
cops.”

Byron wasn't going anywhere. He just looked down at his shoes for a second and came up laughing. “Well, now, I wouldn't do that if I was you. You never know what the police might think about a parent talking that way in front of a young child—specially a parent with your, ahhh, history …”

Andy went maroon. I was just waiting for her to blow up again. She didn't say anything for a really long time. Then she looked at me and said, “Cyril, go to your room, turn the radio up high and shut the door.”

I was wild. I wanted to stay and find out what happened next. “Oh, come on!” I said, but she screamed, “Now!” and I knew I'd better just shut up and do what I was told.

I tried to hear what they were talking about, but I couldn't, not when they were whispering and I had to keep the music up so loud. I tried to record their voices with that pathetic little spy recorder I got for my eleventh birthday, but the batteries were dead. I tried to sneak out into the hall, but she caught me and, honest to God, I thought she was going to kill me right there.

So even now I don't know exactly what they said to each other. All I know is that, twenty minutes later, Byron had moved into my room, and I was sleeping on the couch.