Stirring Up Trouble (9 page)

Jake called me later.

“I guess Mom ruined our little show.” I was starting to wonder if fate was trying to tell us something.

“Sure did,” he said.

“It probably wasn’t a good idea anyway.” That’s what I get for trying to get as much action as my parents.

“Maybe not, but we’re still doing it.”

Thank God! “We are?” I think my voice gave me away.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m taking you to the fall dance.”

A week from Friday. “Shouldn’t you ask me first?”

“Will you go to the fall dance with me and then make out with me until we scare the hell out of our parents?”

“Gee.” I grinned into the phone. “When you put it that way...”

“It’ll be fun.” He paused, then added. “Plus, I want you to go with me.”

“You do?” My heart pitter-pattered.

“Yeah.”

I was afraid my face would split I was smiling so big. “Okay.” It would be fun. Fun to torment our parents. Fun to dance with Jake. Even more fun to make out with him.

“Plus, Anya is so into Brad, she can’t possibly give you a hard time about it.”

Anya and Brad. Oh God! I couldn’t let Brad break up with Anya. “Right,” I said.

“And tell your mom thanks.”

I smiled. She’d like that. “I will. See ya’ tomorrow.”

“’Kay,” he said.

I just sat there on my bed staring at my cell. I wanted that dance. I deserved that dance.

I glanced at the laptop where I stored my potion recipes. I was going to have that dance no matter what it took.

Keeping Anya busy had to be my first priority. Twenty minutes later, I’d identified the best option. A two-week love potion. It was potent, so I could spray it on Brad as he walked by. First, I’d definitely need to give myself an antidote. I didn’t want to accidentally fall in love with some idiot by my own hand. Especially since Brad would be the first person I’d see and falling in love with Brad would be beyond ridiculous.

“Can you pick up some fat free margarine today?” I asked Mom on my way out the door the next morning.

She eyed me with suspicion. “Why?”

“Just, you know, research,” I said, not meeting her eyes. How did she always know when I was up to no good?

“All right. I’ll pick some up.” She scribbled on the magnetic grocery list on the fridge.

On Friday morning, I tracked Brad and Anya to a concrete bench outside at lunch.

“You guys make such a cute couple,” I said. For a split second, I almost reconsidered. Dad and I were invited to watch the game at Jake’s tomorrow night. I wanted to go, but I wanted the dance more.

“Thanks.” Anya expected such as her due. She tossed her hair and edged closer to Brad.

“Hold hands and I’ll take your picture.” If he was touching her, the potion would automatically make him fall in love with her.

Brad took her hand and put his arm around her. I pulled out my phone and snapped the picture. “Oh my God. What’s Jake doing with her?” I said looking over their heads.

Anya and Brad turned to look behind them and I squirted a couple of drops on Brad’s arm from a water gun full of Love Potion. He swiped at his arm, but didn’t pay much attention.

“Very funny, Zoe,” Anya said, turning back to me.

“Sorry. My mistake.” I holstered my weapon, or actually put it in my purse, and walked away from them as quickly as possible. Mission accomplished.

“She’s acting so weird lately,” Anya said.

“I thought she was always weird,” I heard Brad say. I knew I didn’t like that guy. If he didn’t watch it, I’d have to pull out that vomit trump card after all.

Everything seemed to be on track because I had sprouted three black hairs from my chin by the time I got home.

Mom looked up from the magazine she was reading and shook her head. “I had a feeling,” she said. “Love potion?”

“Yeah, but not for Jake. I slipped one to Brad so he’d keep dating Anya. I was afraid he’d dump her before the dance.”

I looked at my chin in the mirror over the couch. The hairs were already two inches long.

“I wonder why there are three of them,” Mom mused. “I guess you could braid them. Maybe put on some beads.”

“Mother! That’s so not funny!” I could totally picture the humiliation of sporting a beaded beard.

“You could start a new trend.”

“Mother!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Mother?”

“You only say that when you’re mad.” She leaned in to peer at my chin. “I’m assuming you have a plan.”

I nodded. “I do.”

“Care to share?”

“Not yet. But I need a ride in the morning to the other side of town. And if everything works out, I’m going with Dad to a party at Sheree’s tomorrow night.”

“Okay. But you’ll tell me in the morning.”

I flopped onto the couch next to her. “Right now I just want to relax and veg in front of the television.”

It took me a while to get ready. But I needed an early start, so I woke Mom up at seven, ready to go.

I backed away from her bed and tapped her with one of my latex covered hands. Mom rolled over, saw me, and shrieked.

“As if you’re so pretty with all that cream on your face,” I muttered through the blue bandana tied over my nose and mouth. “C’mon, Mom. Let’s get this over with before I chicken out.”

“Don’t wave that toilet brush at me, Zoe.”

I made a threatening gesture with the offending item.

Mom sat up in bed and scooted back against the headboard. “From your costume, I’m guessing your plan involves either handling nuclear waste or cleaning bathrooms.”

I shrugged. “Same dif.”

Mom raised a brow. “Tell me.”

“We head across town and I clean the bathrooms in fast food restaurants and gas stations until my chin clears up.”

“Oh my God!” She shuddered. “You weren’t that bad, Zoe. Surely, we can think of something else. Something with fewer bodily fluids and less disease.”

“Mom, I have to do this quickly. And it cannot benefit me in any way.”

Mom sighed. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” I admitted. “I figured I’d just barf it right up anyway.”

“Okay,” Mom said, fully awake. “Go eat some cereal and I’ll make a few calls. Maybe we can drum up some dirty bathrooms that are less likely to result in death by infectious disease.”

Chapter Eight

“Mrs. Lovette,” Mom said, pulling up to the curb in front of her friend Alice’s house. “She’s got three boys and works full time. At least you’ll be dealing with little kid pee instead of truck driver pee.”

“True,” I said. I adjusted the adhesive bandage which hid my shame. Mom had ordered me to take off the bandana. “I’ll call when I’m done.”

“Love you, honey,” Mom called as I got out of the car.

One little, short-acting, love potion, and I’m up to my elbows in human waste. Ain’t life grand.

When Mrs. Lovette opened the door, she greeted me with a warm smile. “Hi, Zoe. It’s so great that your service organization wants to help working mothers clean house. But you really don’t have to do the bathrooms.” She eyed my toilet brush. “Picking up the boys’ rooms would be a huge help.”

Then, a dog ran by her followed by three small boys shouting at the top of their lungs. The screaming faded as they ran for a distant part of the house.

“Our advisor is fresh out of college. She likes to think outside the box,” I explained, using the excuse Mom and I had cooked up.

“You know,” the heavy-set woman said, stepping back so I could enter. “They should use this as sex ed. Cleaning my house will probably convince you never to have kids.” She grinned.

I laughed, but the kids came running by again, (this time one carried a baseball bat), and Mrs. Lovette shut the door and ran off after them.

She ended up taking the boys and dog to the backyard. I picked up enough toys to open a chain of toy stores. Then, I dusted and vacuumed. After mopping the kitchen, I headed for the bathrooms.

Toilets are my least favorite things in the world. Necessary, yes, but totally nasty.

I cleaned the master bath with little effort. But, when I reached the hall bathroom, I realized exactly why this was going to work on the unfortunate side effect of my potion. I lifted the toilet seat to find a crystallized yellow coating—dried urine. Barf. The base of the toilet was similarly decorated. The worst part was the screws that attached the seat. They were rusted from all the pee.

Oh, God. I fought the nausea, quickly finished cleaning the toilet, and washed my hands with soap for about twenty minutes. Then, I had to go to the third bathroom downstairs which was almost as bad.

Mrs. Lovette thanked me by hugging me until I couldn’t breathe. She tried to give me a twenty, which I declined. Then, she walked me two doors down and introduced me to her neighbor.

Only one little boy lived here, and he was a cutie. But he also had a penchant for peeing all over the bathroom.

It suddenly struck me that Jake’s bathroom could be this gross. I swear it was almost enough to end my crush. Almost.

The little boy followed me around as I cleaned.

“Do you have a boo boo on your face?” he asked, pointing to the adhesive bandage which covered my three new hairs.

“Uh, no,” I said.

“Did your cat scratch you?” He held up his arms to show me what must have been where his cat had scratched him.

“Ooh. Those look like they hurt.” I motioned to my chin. “It’s just a zit,” I said, figuring that was the most normal thing to say.

“What’s a zit?” he asked.

I guess preschoolers don’t know zits. “It’s just bumps you get when you’re a teenager. They’re no big deal.”

He was very quiet, so I looked up from the dresser I was dusting.

He tugged at his Bob the Builder shirt and looked at me with wide eyes.

“What kinda bumps?” he asked in a whisper.

Apparently, he wasn’t ready for the realities of being a teenager. “Oh, I was just kidding,” I said. “My cat scratched me, just like you thought.”

I don’t think he bought it. I don’t even lie well enough to fool a four-year-old. I’m such a loser.

The third house had obviously been cleaned already. The bathrooms smelled of Pine Sol. Either, the mom was a neat freak or she couldn’t stand anyone seeing her dirt. Whatever. As long as I did enough to lose the chin hairs from hell, I really didn’t care.

The fourth mother had two boys and two girls. When I finished the last bathroom, I closed and locked the door. Holding my breath, I slowly peeled the adhesive bandage back. My three little friends were gone. Whew.

It had worked. All that cleaning was worth it. I did a little dance of celebration and called Mom to pick me up.

“So, did they try to pay you?” Mom asked, when I hopped in the car.

“Yep. Every last one of them.” I could have used the money, but that would have ruined all the work. “I told them to send a check to the domestic violence shelter if they wanted.”

She turned to me with a smile. “You’re a good girl, you know that?”

“I’ll tell you one thing, Mom. It’s a good thing I’m going to medical school, because being a cleaning lady is way too much work!”

She shook her head as if she weren’t sure what to do with me. “Should we go out for dinner?”

“I’m beat.” I pushed my seat back to recline. “And I need a shower before the game.”

“Okay,” Mom said. She glanced at her watch. “You cleaned for seven hours. No wonder you’re tired.”

Dad really wanted me to go to Sheree’s for the game, and I managed to talk Camille into going with me. The shower had done wonders.

Dad and I picked Camille up on our way. I hopped out to ring the doorbell.

“Thanks so much.” I told her when she answered.

“No prob,” she said, grabbing her orange purse and closing the door behind her. “It might be fun.”

“Fun?” I really doubted it.

She blushed a little, and I realized she was probably looking forward to seeing Jake. Even if she did end up marrying him and living happily ever after, I wanted someone to hang out with tonight. I’d just have to deal with it.

“That’s right,” I said narrowing my eyes. “You have a crush on somebody.”

Now, she turned beet red which was not flattering considering she wore a Volunteer-orange cardigan. “Shh. Your dad will hear you.”

“It’s okay. He won’t say anything to Jake.”

She smiled, revealing those dimples I so envied. “Oh, it’s not Jake.”

Oh, thank God! “It’s not?”

“No.”

“If you think you’re going to get away with not telling me, you’re so wrong. You’re at my mercy. I could tell Dad to kidnap you.”

She snorted. “Like he would. Mr. Sensible Scientist.” She lowered her voice and looked around as if someone would be eavesdropping on her front lawn. “It’s Kent.”

“Kent Carmichael?” He was shy and reserved, not at all like the outgoing Camille.

“Shut up!”

“Sorry. I had no clue.”

“Obviously.” She smoothed her denim mini skirt.

I so envied her legs. Kickboxing six days a week.

“Just get in the car.”

I climbed in the back with Camille even though I knew it was rude. Dad let me get away with it, but he hates being a chauffeur.

After Dad said hi and Camille answered his questions politely, we got back to our conversation.

“Since when,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Since when have you liked him,” I hissed in a whisper.

She shrugged, tossing her straight, dark hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know. A month or so, I guess.”

“Does he know?”

“No!” She acted as if Kent knowing would be the worst thing imaginable.

“Does anybody know?”

“No. Well, you, now. That’s it.”

“So what is it that you like about him?”

“I don’t know.” She got that dreamy girlie look in her big brown eyes. “He’s just so cute.”

Kent Carmichael? I mean, he was okay, but Camille could do a lot better. Jake, better.

I thought about Kent for a minute. He was kinda cute. Just so quiet. I didn’t really notice him much. Of course, I was too busy noticing Jake.

“If he knew you liked him, he’d ask you out in a heartbeat.”