The Taming of the Drew (7 page)

“I’m not sure I agree, but okay, I can do that. And?”

“It’s going to look even weirder for your son if I appear for no good reason and start being involved. Don’t you…” I did my best to look nonchalant, picking at a knot at the end of a strand of hair, “have another kid?”

She eyed me again, “I have a daughter, Bianca.”

“What if,” I pulled at the knot so hard I felt it in my scalp, still not meeting her eyes, “what if you got a tutor for her? I have a friend, this guy, who might be willing. You know, you could talk to the Deans, make this whole thing with me and your son and a tutor and your daughter look like a kind of cross-pod exchange program.”

Mrs. Bullard had the same suspicious look that my mom got when I said something too reasonable, like she knew there was a catch somewhere, if she could only find it. “That’s not a bad idea. But see here, if you think some testosterone-saturated jock is going to have unlimited access to my too-beautiful-for-her-own-good, 14-year-old daughter, then I’ll call this whole thing off and we can go back to discussing expulsion.”

Yikes. Her charming son had sure done a number, scaring this woman into thinking Bianca ought to be locked up in a chastity belt. Well, maybe if I looked like a goddess, my mom would be like that too.

But what about Tio? He’d never had a crush on anyone. Ever. I couldn’t leave him out. And heaven knows, I needed someone around to help me. But could I count on Tio to not blow it? What if he went into his love-trance? The minute he zombied and let slip another “I burn, I pine, I perish,” I was going to be so dead. The Deans, Mrs. Bullard, the Dog — they’d be fighting for the chance to “perish” me first. Expulsion would look like a gift in comparison (“I’ll take Door Number One — expulsion! Whee!”).
 

Okay, so I’d opened my mouth, but I could still back out. Besides, Bianca would probably laugh at Tio. And then I’d have to kill her. There’s no way this was going to end well.

But I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I swallowed hard. “You remember that guy who was here?”

“The tiny one?” she said. Even though it was true, I had an urge to hit her. Didn’t anyone ever see anything else about Tio?

“Um, well, he’s the guy I was talking about.”

“He’s a scholar?”

Tio got indifferent grades, at best. His theory was that the smartest people didn’t waste any more of their lives on school than it took to get a low C. “He quotes Shakespeare all the time.” Oh. God. I was going to be struck by a bolt of lightning where I stood.

“He certainly
looks
safe,” she said, rubbing her chin.

What else could Tio do? There had to be something. I flashed back on the mental image of Tio, shaking with fear in front of the crowded stadium, whacking a tinkling instrument for all he was worth, “He’s energetic with a triangle.”

“Bianca
does
struggle with geometry.”

She stared at me for a long, tense moment. “All right,” she said, “but I’m adding Bianca’s tutoring to your responsibilities. This Tio person is in your club too. If anything happens to my daughter — anything at all — your club’s money will be forfeit.”

I must have gone pale, because she said, “Do you want a glass of water before I tell the others they can come in?”

“I need to talk to Tio first, see if he’s okay with this.”
Really
, I needed to talk to Tio to get our stories straight and to stop him from squealing with joy in front of everyone.

She looked at her watch. “You have two minutes. But if this Tio is not interested, I’m more than happy to drop the whole tutoring idea.”

“I, uh, think there’s a chance I might be able to talk him into it.”

***

“But Dean Verona knows I’m a slacker!” Tio vibrated like a panic-stricken rabbit. Even his eyes pinked with alarm. “And you!” He said it like an accusation, like I’d gone completely bonkers, instead of handing him the opportunity of a lifetime. “The Dog will kill us both. You, because, well, what you’re doing is pure suicide, and me, I’m going to be hanging out with his precious sister. He’ll pound me to a pulp. Did you see how hard those guys can hit? Did you? Oh my God. We’re doomed.”

“Put your head between your knees,” I said.

From under the seat of his chair, Tio’s muffled voice waffled up. “Money, you’ll do anything for money. You’ll chain yourself to this wild-dog.”

I patted Tio on the back and made myself lean back in my own chair. It would be all right. This had to work. The alternative was too horrible. In my mind I could hear the whir of a chainsaw, whining like a dentist’s drill. Sawdust flew as branches were amputated and plunged to the ground. With a scream of agony a hundred-year-old redwood tore at the base and began to topple.
 

No way would I let that happen. I was going to force this deal to work. “He can roar all he wants. I’m not afraid of boys.” There. See? My voice didn’t tremble. Much.
 

Tio popped up to face me where I sat beside him. “You think he’s a
boy
? He’s a man. Didn’t you
hear
the things those guys said in the locker room? Didn’t you
see
them crushing college men on the field? Don’t you realize the Dog is going to crush
you
when he finds out about this?”

Mrs. Bullard opened the door. “Are you ready to meet my son?”

I must have looked clammy
and
pale, because when I couldn't answer, Mrs. Bullard just handed me a paper cup of water. She gave me a hard look as I drank it. “Even if my son doesn’t know it, he has more at stake here than you. I’m not playing at this. I have no more options, other than to stand by and watch him destroy himself. There are only two months left for him to prove he’s changed, or no decent college program will take him. I will not back down one inch, not with his future hanging in the balance. Young lady, this is your last chance to refuse. If you take this on, there’ll be no going back. I’ll hold you to our agreement down to the very last day of high school.”

Mrs. Bullard and Tio waited.
 

Mrs. Bullard said, “Shall I send my son to you?”

I tugged at my shirt and smoothed down the back of my crinoline. “Might as well get this over.”

***

Don’t look scared. Don’t look scared. Don’t look scared.

See, I guess I’d started to channel the Dog image a bit too much. I worked last summer as a dog-walker. Most dogs that truly need a dog-walker are big. First thing you learn is, you can’t let them see fear, or you’re dead before you start. Attitude is everything. The fact is, when you're dealing with a pack of big dogs, they out-number you, they’re stronger than you, and each one could rip your throat out faster than you can blink. If they wanted to. In my head, where panic was a humming, high whine, that was all I could hear — the same words I told myself then:

Don’t look scared. Don’t look scared. Don’t look scared.

If he says he won’t do this deal, I’ll say fine by me. Go ahead and trash your future. If he says I’m ugly, I’ll say he is too. If he says I’m the most interesting person he’s ever met and he can’t wait to start hanging out with me…I’ll get his head checked.

Oh, God. This was never going to work.

The door opened.

“Hello, Drew,” I said, leaning back against the desk, hands flat on either side of me. See how cool I am about all this.

“What are you, deaf? My name’s Andrew. Not Drew.”

“You’re Drew to me.” His eyes narrowed and he came across the room to loom over me. I swallowed and kept going, my voice light and bouncy. “Determined Drew, defensive Drew. Drew, the damned. Drew, the — “

“Don’t you dare say it!” His voice growled, low and harsh. He took a deep breath. “And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Drew the
Dog
.”

“Ah,” I said (mental note: not keen on Dog nickname), “actually I was going to say Drew the debonair.”

Silence. He put his hands on his hips. “That’s a weird, old-fashioned word. What are you, some kind of geek freak?”

Okay, that stung, but who was I to say it wasn’t deserved, at least a little bit, given the way I looked and what his mom had just told him I was going to do? “I’m a trifle weird and old-fashioned too, just like that word. Debonair.”

Silence. “Are you actually trying to flirt with me?”

“You’re kidding. Right? Your mom wants me to somehow make you behave. Why don’t we get the real problem out in the open here. First, I can’t make you do anything.”

“Damn straight.”

“In fact, no creature can
make
another creature do something. Not really.”

“Shows what you don’t know. Drop a fumble and my coach’ll make the whole team do twenty gut-sprints.”
 

“My point exactly. You agreed to follow his rules, and then you all agreed to the consequences if you break them.”

He leaned closer. His eyes narrowed. “What happened to your lips?”

I felt my spine go rigid. “Generally a fat lip is what you get when you’re slammed on the floor.”

“Looks like you got stung. Bet it hurt.” He leaned in, invading my space as if daring me to say something.

“Oh you’ll feel my sting all right, if you don’t back up.” I half-lifted my right knee and he flinched backward.
 

“Funny,” he said, “I didn’t take you for the crotch humor type.”

“We’ll both do better if you don’t try to figure out a type for me. Some of us aren’t so easy to typecast.”

“You think you know my type?”

I almost said it — pitt. No one on earth had ever been so clearly a dull, straightforward, pretty-boy pitt as this guy. “Indulged, in trouble, insensitive. Take your pick.”

“And you, of course, are so
normal
, you believe you have the right to be my — what? — nursemaid?” The sarcasm rolled off him like steam.

“Weird, old-fashioned, that’s me. Normal I never claimed to be. Your nursemaid? That’s my worst nightmare. Which brings me to my second point. You ought to be thinking of me as your ticket to riches. I’m the one you ought to be wooing.”

He actually laughed, a snorting explosion. “Wooing. Did you really just say that? You are seriously weird.”

“I
meant
you ought to be trying to get me to like you as…as a
person
. Not a dog.”

His face thunderclouded but I kept going, “The way I see it, you’ve got yourself in one hell of a mess, and I’m your only hope out of it.” I counted them off on my fingers, “No money, no car, no social life. No football — it’s not like you can take a few years off and try again later. If you don’t clean up, now, you’re done. Forever. No
future
. At seventeen, you’re a big, fat has-been. Go ahead, tell me if I’m wrong.”

“Don't you dare call me
Dog
.”

We panted, almost nose-to-nose. The words
don’t look scared, don’t look scared
were a whining buzz in the soundtrack of my head.
 

The door opened.
 

Mrs. Bullard stood there, with the Deans and my mom behind her, Celia crammed to the right and Tio’s face tucked underneath them all, against the doorjamb.
 

“How are you speeding along here with my son?”

Mrs. Bullard’s voice was fake cheerful. I showed my teeth in what I hoped was a smile. “We’re cruising along great. Just great. Making lots of plans.”

“And you, Andrew?” her fake cheerfulness faltered, “You look like a little upset. Is that so, son? Should I worry about this
working
?”

He folded his arms across his chest, “Gee, why would you worry, mother? All you've done is ask her to 'help' me, right? It's not like you gave power over my life to some total stranger you don't know at all, who might turn out to be a lunatic — because that could've been a disaster, couldn't it? Good thing that's not what happened here.”
 

In the silence that followed (confused silence for the Deans, my mom, Celia — breath-holding silence for the rest of us), his mother didn’t say anything to let him off the hook. She wasn’t kidding when she said she meant to make this deal stick. I saw a flash of similarity between him and his mother — both jaw-clenched, their wills slamming, huge as those behemoth guys on the football field. They were both playing for keeps.

Well so was I. My trees were every bit as important as their family battle.

I’d never succeed if I tried to do this thing halfway. And if I had no clue what I was doing — well, I'd have to improvise. I couldn't hesitate, or my eight thousand dollars would be lost before I had the chance to earn them. I made an instant, dry-mouth, hands-trembling, decision. Might as well put the cards on the table and call his bluff. “Drew and I,” I announced to everyone, “we’re doing very well. In fact, he’s so
charming
, we’re going to…to…” but then my mind, the fear-frozen traitor that it was, pulled a total blank. Nothing came to mind. Nothing at all. But I wasn’t going to stop. I couldn’t, or it would all be over before it started. “What’s that school thing happening this weekend? Anyone know?”

Celia said, her voice low and horrorstruck, “You can’t mean” (intake of breath) “the dance?”

“That’s right,” My voice rose two or three octaves. Mr. Fenniman, the chorus teacher, would have been impressed. “We’re going to the school dance tomorrow night.”

Tio and Celia screeched, “You’re going with
him
?” and, “You’re going with
her
?”
 

Drew and I glared at each other for a long moment.
 

“Sure,” I said, “maybe it seems sudden. But Drew’s decisive. He said he could be cursed alone, or with me.” He got my meaning, and raised one lip in a sneer of angry appreciation. Miserable with me, or more miserable alone — that was his choice.
 

Finally, he gritted out, “Yeah. It’s our deal. What’s between us is our business.”

I made it all the way to the empty hallway with my mom and Tio before I had to sit and put my head between my legs.