Rebel McKenzie (8 page)

Lynette pretended to reel backward. “If I ask you to pick a poppy seed off the floor, you whine and carry on something awful. And you're serving and washing dishes for Miz Matthews?”

The pink-frosted cookie wasn't any better. I tried a plain round vanilla. “Every day you tell me stuff to do and I do it, plus watch Rudy, which isn't the easiest job in the world.”

“Hey!” he protested.

Lynette took the pan off the burner and poured the soup into two bowls, flipped our sandwiches over, and checked the Tater Tots in the oven. I marveled that she could do all of those things at once. I could pour the soup or flip the sandwiches or open the oven door, but only one thing at a time. Even then I'd probably mess up.

“You know why I was working at Miz Odenia's today?” I asked her.

“I've been waiting.”

“She's teaching us how to be beauty pageant contestants.”

“Say what?” A grilled cheese sandwich leaped out of the skillet. Lynette didn't even bother to scrape it off the floor.

“You heard right. Lacey Jane and me entered the Frog Level firemen's carnival beauty pageant.” I didn't tell her I borrowed the entry fee. Or that I forged her signature on the form. “Miz Odenia is showing us how to walk right. She was once—well, she knows about that stuff. In exchange, me and Lacey Jane serve at her parties.”

Rudy piped up. “Miz Odenia told us a story about a turtle she was gonna marry.”

Lynette didn't even hear that ridiculous remark. “I can't believe you
of all people
entered a
beauty pageant
!”

I shrugged. “It's something to do.” Like heck it was. I'd commit capital murder to get to that paleontology dig.

Lynette came over and lifted my hair off my neck. “We should definitely put your hair up. With a few curls off to one side. And of course I'll do your makeup.”

I pushed her hand away. “No makeup. And no weird hairdos, Miss Chain Saw Stylist. I want to look like myself.”

She gave my shoulder a little slap. “I ought to snatch you bald-headed for that remark. And if you look like yourself, you can forget about winning.”

“The Stella D'Oro cookie people lied,” I said, shoving the bag across the table. “This isn't an assortment. The cookies
look
different but they all taste the same.”

Lynette brought over our plates. “Cookies are a lot like life, Rebel. A lot of it tastes the same.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. But then, my sister and me didn't seem like we came from the same family, most of the time.

Y
ou don't have to go through life with “rabbit lashes.” Yes, Rebel McKenzie, this means you! Don't walk around another second with eyeballs like olives in a jar. Take action now!


Beef up puny eyelashes in five easy steps:


1. Sleep on your back, not your stomach! Your eyes get all mashed in the mattress. See those little tiny hairs on the pillowcase? Bye-bye eyelashes.


2. Grease your eyelashes with Vaseline right before bedtime. It makes them grow longer and thicker.


3. Don't rub your eyes! You pull out precious lashes.


4. Use an eyelash curler. Place the curler part where your eyelashes grow out of your eyelids. Close the handle. Don't squeeze too hard!


5. Get out your trusty Vaseline. Sprinkle a little baby powder on your eyelashes. Add a teeny dab of Vaseline. Your eyelashes will look thicker and shinier instantly. And you have
me
to thank for it!


Until next time…smile pretty!


B
efore my eyelids cracked open, I heard somebody banging on the front door. I waited to see if Lynette would get it, but after the fourth set of bangs, I stumbled out of bed and into the hall. Since I was still wearing my daddy's T-shirt that I sleep in, I unlocked the door and opened it just a sliver.

“It's me,” Lacey Jane said, bright as a new dime in a redand-white shorts set even though the sun had barely peeped over the 7-Eleven. “Take this. And this.” She handed me a large brown cat and a folded piece of pink paper.

Doublewide lay heavily across my outstretched arms like a two-ton rag doll. The paper was bunched up in one hand, so I couldn't read it.

“Why are you bringing us our cat?” I asked. “We already know he lives here, unfortunately.”

“Tell
him
that,” Lacey Jane said. “Daddy just came home, mad enough to bust. He was almost to work when this big ol' thing jumped in the front seat.”

“The cat rides in cars?”

She nodded. “It's not the first time Doublewide went to sleep in the back of Daddy's van. Daddy said it better be the last. Did you know he used to pretend he was homeless and begged for table scraps? Doublewide, I mean. Not my daddy.”

I dropped Doublewide—
ker-plunk
—on the floor. He ran off to investigate his food dish. “What's the paper?”

“I found it stuck in your door. I didn't read it, but I bet I know what it is.”

It took me four seconds to scan the latest edition of
Bambi Lovering's Expert Beauty Tips
. Then I crumpled the paper in a tight ball, wishing it was Bambi's head.

“Don't tell me you're cursed with a beauty defect too,” Lacey Jane guessed.

“Rabbit lashes.” I blinked several times to make my eyelashes flutter. They were
not
puny.

Lacey Jane laughed. “
Rabbit lashes!
Next you'll have guinea pig lips!”

“You didn't think it was so funny when she said you had piano legs.” The more I thought about Bambi's nerve, the hotter I got.

“Oh, good, you're up.” Lynette rushed into the hall. She saw Lacey Jane and said, “Hey there, Lacey Jane.”

Today Lynette wore her hair in a towering heap that defied gravity. A smooth layer covered the snarled teased part, like a sheet thrown over a brush pile.

“Rebel,” she said, grabbing a banana from the wooden bowl on the counter, “I'm late. Will you make my bed? Ta-ta!” With a waggle of her fingers, she was out the door. No wonder she was late. It must have taken hours to back-comb her hair into a skyscraper.

“‘Will you make my bed?'” I mocked Lynette's new, mincing beauty-school voice. “‘And cook ten-course meals and rearrange the gravel in the driveway with tweezers?' What I really want to do is give Bambi a gigantic Dutch rub.”

“Get your chores over with first,” Lacey Jane said. “That's what I do.”

I looked at her. This was the first time she'd admitted that she did the housework now. It was a good moment to tell her I knew about her mother. Then Rudy came in.

“Hey, Lacey Jane,” he said. “Hey, Rebel. Where's Mama?”

“She left already.” My mad was not going away. I had to do something before I exploded. “Rudy, go watch cartoons. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

“Where're you going?”

“Just across the street. I'll be right back. Don't get into anything. Okay?”

“'kay.”

Lacey Jane tried to stop me. “Rebel, you're still in your nightclothes!”

“So what? Bambi Lovering has messed with the wrong person.” I pushed her aside and marched across the street.

Lacey Jane's sandals clip-clipped behind me. Rudy straggled behind her, and Doublewide brought up the rear. Nothing like leading a parade.

Hopping up the cement steps, I leaned on the Loverings' doorbell. The door jerked open so fast, I nearly fell inside.

Bambi stood there in a purple bathrobe with glittery stars. A pink satin mask was pushed up on her forehead.

“Kind of early for Halloween, isn't it?” I said. “Or are you on your way to rob a bank?”

“This is an
eye
mask, I'll have you know. What are y'all doing here at this unearthly hour?”

“I got your beauty tip,” I began. “Here's what I think of—”

Yarkyarkyarkyarkyark!

Something very small, very furry, and very fast launched itself at me. Pin-sharp teeth locked on my ankle. I lifted my foot, but the critter hung on, growling.

“Kissy!” Bambi picked up a wriggling tan-and-silver fur ball and tucked it under her chin. “Is that any way to behave? No attacking, not even if Rebel deserves it.”

“It's a
dog
,” Rudy cried. “Aw, isn't it cute! When'd you get it?”

“Yesterday,” Bambi said, stroking Kissy's licorice-drop nose. “I bought her with my Miss John Deere prize money. She's a Yorkie—Yorkshire terrier. She'll only weigh about five pounds when she's full-growed.”

“You named her Kissy?” Lacey Jane asked.

“Yeah, 'cause all I want to do is kiss this sweet li'l thing.
Mwa, mwa, mwa, mmm-wa!
” Bambi plastered lip-smackers all over the poor dog's fuzzy little head.

Rudy held out his arms. “Can I hold her?” he asked, lovesick over both Bambi and her scrap of a dog.

She looked at him. “You have a giant booger in your nose.”

“And you've got a big stick up your butt,” I said, as Rudy turned away, his shoulders slumping. “Where do you get off telling people about their rabbit lashes and boogers?”

“‘Good grooming habits are the way to start your day,'” she returned. “That's from chapter two of the beauty advice book I'm writing.”

“Are you for real? I bet your mama ordered you from the Sears catalog.”

Doublewide sidled by my leg, staring up at Kissy, probably thinking it was a long-haired rat. Doublewide easily made three of that dog.

Kissy wiggled out of Bambi's grip and skittered over to the cat.
Yarkyarkyarkyarkyarkyarkyark!

“Shoo!” I said to the dog. “Go on!” The last thing I needed was a fight around my sore heels. “Grab your stupid dog before she gets hurt!”

“You better be worrying about the cat,” Bambi yelled over Kissy's barking. “Kissy is a terrier. She's not afraid of anything.”

Doublewide watched nonchalantly as Kissy raced around in tight circles. Then he drew himself up, waited until the dog was within swatting range, and—
thwack!
—boxed Kissy with his Brontotherium-sized paw. Squealing, the dog rolled over like a sow bug.

Bambi snatched Kissy up. “Get that big bully out of here!”

I stuck my face close to Bambi's. “I know you think you're greatest thing since sliced bread, but get ready. Me and Lacey Jane entered the firemen's carnival pageant. In the same category as you.”

“Oh, please,” she said with a harsh laugh. “You two will
never
be in the same category as me.”

“Better take your own beauty advice,” Lacey Jane said. “You finally have serious competition.”

We walked back across the street, satisfied. Me in my sleep-shirt, Lacey Jane in her red shorts and matching ankle socks and barrettes, Rudy in his NASCAR pajamas, Doublewide padding along, his round stomach swaying.

Rudy thoughtfully worked his finger up his nose to the second joint.

“Rude,” I said, “wait till we're home before you clean the bat out of the cave.”

“My knees hurt,” I complained to Lacey Jane as I scattered Ritz crackers on a silver tray. “This gig better pay good.”

“Because you did the pivot turns wrong. Rebel, don't dump stuff on the tray. Fix it nice.”

“Why? They'll just mess it up. Remember how these ladies eat?”

For the second time in two days, me and Lacey Jane were serving food. This time at Viola Sandbanks's Madame Queen jewelry party. And for the second time in two days, me and Lacey Jane had had a pageant lesson from Miss Odenia.

This morning, Miss Odenia showed us how to do this neat turn at the end of our pageant walk. You place one foot in front of the other, raise your heels, and spin so you're facing the other way. The foot that was behind is now in front, and you walk back in the direction you came.

Unless
you're me and you turn the wrong way so your knees crash into each other.

“Right foot first,” Miss Odenia kept telling me. “Pivot to the left. Your
other
left.”

Lacey Jane pivoted like she was on roller skates at the end of her walk, and even in the middle of her walk, while I had to have Miss Odenia pry my legs apart with a soup ladle. At the end of our lesson, I could barely crawl home.

Viola Sandbanks sailed into the kitchen, no small feat since she wore at least sixty-five pins on the front of her dress. Swags of pearls and beads swung out from her bosom, and bracelets were stacked clear up to her elbow.

When she moved, she clacked and clanked like the Tin Man. Now I know why she asked us to serve. Weighed down with all that jewelry, she couldn't pick up a marshmallow.

“How we doing, girls? Lacey Jane, that cookie platter is simply lovely.” She frowned at my cracker tray.

“I saw this in the latest
Good Housekeeping
,” I fibbed. You dump out a whole box of crackers. It's called The Volcano.”

“Really? Well, if it's the latest—”

Palmer Sandbanks fluttered in. She had rings on every finger, even her thumbs. “Mama, everybody's coming up the walk.”

“Let them in, dear.” To us, Viola said, “Make the punch, girls. The recipe is on the counter.” She clanked into the living room.

“Volcano. What a crock,” Lacey Jane said, pouring ginger ale into the huge glass bowl. “How much cranberry juice do I add?”

I glanced at the stained index card. “Six quarts.”

Craning my neck, I saw Miss Odenia with Mrs. Randolph, the old lady from Better-Off-Dead Pest Control and Bridal Consignment. Right behind them strutted Bambi's mother…and Bambi herself, decked out in a pink polka-dot sundress. She carried Kissy in a wicker basket. The dog sported a pink rhinestone collar.

“Six? That sounds like a lot.” Lacey Jane began taking bottles from the fridge.

“Guess who's here?”

“Not the Scourge of Grandview Estates?”

“In the pink,” I said. “Complete with dog.”

Bambi heard our voices. She whispered something to her mother, then hiked her nose in the air.

Viola clapped loudly. “Ladies, I want to call your attention to the new arrivals in the Madame Queen collection on the coffee table. Black-and-white enamel is all the go this summer.”

“Oooh, I'm gonna get me that black-and-white daisy brooch,” Palmer gushed. “Mr. Beechley won't be able to take his eyes off me.”

“Palmer, I've told you a thousand times to stop chasing after the mailman,” her mother said. “If he was interested in you, he'd have asked you out by now.”

“He's just a slow mover. He'll come around,” Palmer said, unfazed.

I rolled my eyes at Lacey Jane. Poor Mr. Beechley. I wondered why he didn't quit being a mailman and take up a safer job, like Hollywood stuntman.

“You'll have time to look at the samples during refreshments,” Viola said. “Let's play a game to break the ice.”

What ice? It was five hundred degrees outside. Plus, everybody knew each other.

“Palmer, pass out the tablets and pencils. Ladies, see how many words you can make from ‘Madame Queen.' The winner gets the door prize,” Viola said grandly.

“How many words are there?” Miss Odenia asked.

“I found twenty,” Palmer replied.

I flipped the recipe card over and grabbed a pen. “Does ‘Madame' have an ‘e'?”

“Yes,” Lacey Jane said. “Put down ‘queen.' And ‘madam.'”

“Duh.” I scribbled furiously. This was one game I was good at.
Mad. Dam. Dean. Meat. An. Ad. Ma. Am. Need.

“‘Deem'?” Lacey Jane suggested. “Is that a word?”

“Yes indeedy!” My pen flew.
Name. Made. Man. Men. Den. Due.

“Time's up!” Viola chirped. “Who got ten words?” Everyone raised their hands. “Twelve?” Miss Odenia's hand went down. “Thirteen?” Mrs. Randolph dropped out.

“I have fourteen,” said Mimsie Lovering. “But my princess has a big long list.”

“Did you get all twenty, Bambi?” Viola asked.

Bambi flashed her tablet. “Yes! I won!”

“No, you didn't!” I stormed into the living room waving the index card. “
I
got twenty-
two
.”

“The help isn't allowed to play!” Bambi protested.

“Girls, let's be nice.” Viola read Palmer's list, then mine, then Bambi's.

“‘Que' is not a word!” I said, pointing at Bambi's babyish printing.

“Is too,” Bambi tossed back.