6
Problems and Bigger Ones
Bugs makes out with Skyler. Bronson apologizes to Mr. Horum. Cindy interviews Mayor Lane. Randolph gives Bronson an ultimatum.
Bronson woke up to a slap in the face.
“No sleeping in the lunchroom,” Cindy said. Bronson shook himself awake. Maybe late training sessions weren’t the best idea on school nights. Cindy poured her carton of chocolate milk over some charcoal Salisbury steak. The sight and smell of it made Bronson want to hurl.
“On what planet is that a sensible way to put food together?” he asked.
Cindy sopped up the milk with a biscuit. She took a big bite then smiled.
“Glad you approve, short stack.” Flecks of food sprayed as she spoke.
Across the lunch room Bugs sat at a table with Skyler Weddington, one of the school’s cheerleaders. Their faces inched in close to one another, meeting in a stiff kiss that was more for show than anything. There had been a lot of those around the school lately, and Cindy was sick of it.
“What’s so great about kissing, anyway?” she asked nobody in particular. “I know I don’t want some jerk sticking his funky tongue in my mouth.”
“Yeah. Gross,” Bronson said. “Kissing is so gross.”
“So why’d you move here anyway?”
“I moved in with my uncle.”
“What about your parents?”
“My parents… they died a few weeks ago.”
“Sorry, kid. That’s rough,” Cindy said, “but at least you have your uncle.”
“My dad never wanted to let me meet him. Said it wasn’t a good idea. I think he was right. I mean I love the city but my uncle is… he’s mean. The city’s great though. You can feel how old everything is when you walk down the street.”
“Look, kid, I don’t even know the guy. Sorry though. That sucks.”
“Thanks,” Bronson replied.
They sat there and looked around the cafeteria.
“So, doing anything after school today?” Bronson asked.
“I’m working on a story,” Cindy said. She stared at Skyler and Bugs with disgust.
“What about?” Bronson asked.
“You’ve heard of Mayor Lane? Well, he’s being investigated for taking bribes from these drug companies, see? I guess there’s some sort of vaccine that he let them test over on the West Side for a campaign donation or something. He says they only used volunteers in the study, but my sources tell me there’s a version of the drug they were feeding in through the sewers or subways or something. I’m gonna grill him. Really put his butt to the fire, you know?”
Bronson rolled his eyes. “Like the mayor of Colta City is ever gonna talk to a kid.”
Cindy caught Bronson’s ear then twisted it. “Listen up. I’m a reporter. He has to talk. It’s in the constitution. I’ll bet you a dollar I get him to talk.”
“Jeez. Excuse me, Madame Reporter. I’ll take the bet!” She let go of his ear. He picked up his tray then walked over to the old lunch lady who collected them. As he passed by the table where Bugs sat Bugs stuck his foot out— Bronson tripped right over it. He caught himself from crashing to the floor, but his tray still did. Bronson whipped around and grabbed Bugs by his shirt.
Cindy barreled across the room then jumped in between the two boys. She poked Bugs in the chest.
“Bugs, lay off the kid. Don’t you know his parents died?” Bronson wished she hadn’t said that. He knew kids would treat him differently if they knew. He didn’t want to be known as “the kid whose parents died.”
“Cindy, let it go,” he said.
“No, this jerk has been a pain in my you-know-what all year. I swear to God, Bugs. If we weren’t in school I’d brain you so hard.”
“Oh boo-hoo,” Bugs said, “he’s still a walking calamity. I figure you don’t want him around neither. You’re too much of a gentleman to tell him yourself.”
Cindy raised her fist up. Bugs laughed, threw down his books, then raised his fist back at her.
“Don’t fight,” Bronson asked. “He’s just a big jerk anyway.”
“Hey, everybody, listen,” Bugs shouted to the room. “Little Orphan Bronson thinks I’m a jerk.”
Principal Kane broke through the students that crowded around them. “What in heaven’s name is going on here? Ms. McNeil, I expect better from you. And Mr. Black, this is no way to make a first impression.” Principal Kane seized Bugs by the arm. “As for you, let’s go to my office and have a heart-to-heart about your punishment. I’m sure your mother will be thrilled.”
Bugs smiled at Principal Kane. “Sir, Cindy started it. I was sitting here talking to my new girlfriend Skyler, minding my own business, when she ran up and started threatening me.”
“They were kissing,” said a voice from the back of the crowd.
“Is that true, Miss Weddington?” Principal Kane asked.
“Yeah,” she said, “but I’m not his girlfriend. Heather dared me to do it.”
“Well, Bugs,” the Principal said, “regardless of your problems with Ms. McNeil you know we have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to P.D.A. here at Woodrow Wilcox. You both need to come with me. Now.”
He turned to Cindy and Bronson.
“I know you’re good kids. Don’t let me catch you causing trouble again or I may have to rethink that assumption. Got me?”
“Yes, Principal Kane,” Cindy said.
“Got it, sir,” said Bronson.
“Good,” Principal Kane said, “now get to class. You kids have a newscast in an hour.”
Mr. Horum stood at a display case refilling it with clown noses. A circus was in town for the next month, and he was the only shop in the whole city that carried them. The head clown came in at least a couple of times a week. The circus came through once a year and it always meant brisk business. Between the clowns and the sideshow acts the circus made up half of his business for the year. Sure, he loved demoing tricks for the random passers-by who wandered in but they weren’t keeping him in business. It also gave him a chance to perform, something he didn’t get to do much since his wife left. When you’re the only employee it’s tough to get away.
The bell above the door rang. Mr. Horum turned to greet his latest customer.
“Ah, the magician’s son,” he said.
Bronson looked a little embarrassed. “Yeah, sorry about the way I blew out of here the other day. I know you didn’t—”
Mr. Horum ran behind the counter then pulled out a long case. “No. Is good. I figure I trick you with trick vase so you trick me back. When I turn around and you go poof I say ‘Ah! This must truly be son of magician.’” Mr. Horum fiddled with the combination on the case. It clicked open. He pulled out a long sword. “No kid stuff here. I show you real expert tricks.”
Mr. Horum leaned his head back then swallowed the three-foot-long sword to the hilt. Bronson smiled.
“Wicked,” he said.
Mr. Horum gagged on the sword. He slid it back out quick. “No, no. Not wicked. I no do dark things. Is trick, you see?”
Bronson giggled at the old man. “I know. It’s a word that means ‘cool’ or something like that. I know it’s a trick.”
“Ah, yes. You worry me for a minute you betcha. Of course a son of magician knows is just trick. You like trick, right?”
“Of course,” Bronson replied.
“Well, is busy day today. Circus in town. You come back tomorrow, or other day if you like, I teach you trick and some others to boot. Good deal, hmmb? Free lessons.”
“Sounds awesome, Mr.—what’s your name again?”
“Horum, please to know you, magician’s son.”
“Bronson. My name’s Bronson.”
“Well, please to know you, Bronson. Tomorrow, right?”
“See you then,” Bronson said as he ran out the door.
“Cindy McNeil, WWJH. I’m here to see Mayor Lane.”
“WWJH?” asked the man sitting behind the front desk at Colta City Hall. “Is that new? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”
Cindy pulled a rectangular piece of typing paper out of her pocket. It included a big WWJH logo and her name. She handed it to the man. “WWJH, we’ve won ‘Best Student Broadcast’ three years running.”
He put the ratty business card on the ledge. “Oh, the mayor only accepts student reporters for his shadowing program.”
“Yeah,” Cindy said, “that’s what I’m here for. To shadow him today. It’s for school.”
He turned to his computer and scrolled through a spreadsheet. “No shadowing scheduled for today. What’s your name again? Oh, and I’ll need your teacher’s name too.”
Cindy snatched her card off the ledge. “Wait… we had to sign up? I thought it was an open thing. Like we could just show up?”
The man pulled a white envelope from under his desk. “Here, you’ll need this,” he said as he offered the envelope to Cindy. “There are forms in there for you, your parents, and your teacher. And you still have to be approved, mind you.”
Cindy took the envelope. “Look, I came all the way down here. I’m missing school. Can’t I just go in and talk to Mayor Lane for a minute. A minute then I’m on my way.”
“Young lady, we can’t ask the mayor to take time out of his day every time—”
“Come on. This is so important.” Cindy slammed her hands down on the ledge. “Do you realize you are the only thing standing between me and something I’ll never forget? Mayor Lane is my hero. Ya’ gotta.”
The man looked at his spreadsheet then back to Cindy. He wound the telephone cord around his fingers then looked at Cindy, who looked pretty pitiful.
“I’ll try,” he said. “I’m the guy that answers the phone. I don’t really have a ton of pull.”
“You’ve got more pull than I’ve got, buddy,” Cindy said.
“It’s Chester,” the man said. He pointed to a bench in the corner of the room. “Wait over there.”
Cindy nodded. She grabbed some pamphlets from a table then took a seat. Chester held his ID badge in front of a gray pad next to the door behind his desk. A red light blinked three times. A buzzer sounded. Chester went through the door, which clicked behind him.
Cindy looked through a pamphlet promoting the Colta City Library System. She counted to fifteen under her breath.
“1,” she whispered.
She jumped up and bolted to Chester’s desk. She opened the top middle drawer. Some Trident gum, paper clips, and a few handfuls of change. A purple nylon string ran along the bottom of the drawer and disappeared under a stack of papers. Cindy lifted up the papers. Another ID badge with Chester’s picture. She scooped it up. The door behind the desk beeped. She slammed the drawer shut then jumped into her seat on the bench.
Chester walked through the door and smiled at Cindy.
“You lucked out, honey. Mayor Lane has 15 minutes free.”
Chester held the door for Cindy as she entered the mayor’s study. Bookshelves lined the walls. A dark leather couch sat next to a wooden chair that sat a little higher. A white flower with three petals and a light purple center stood near the window. Cindy went over for a closer look.
“What kind of flower is this?” she asked as she reached out to touch it. A bookcase behind her creaked as it opened.
“Lycaste virginalis, also called the White Nun Orchid,” said Mayor Lane as he emerged from the secret door. “I purchased it from a family in the Alta Verapaz province in Guatemala. It grows on the mountaintop there. I keep it here in the study where we can keep it cool. We’ve also set up an automatic misting system to reproduce the humidity without damaging the books. In fact, I think that’s it right now.”
A thin mist blew out of several hidden jets in the wall behind the plant. The mist blew through the plant then hit Cindy in the face. She jerked back then wiped the thin layer of moisture away.
“A little warning would have been nice,” she said.
“I could say the same for your visit, Miss… actually Chester didn’t give me a name.”
“Cindy McNeil, WWJH.”
“Well, Miss McNeil with WWJH, would you care to interview me?”
Mayor Lane sat down in the chair. He gestured for Cindy to sit on the couch.
“Chester, could we have some water? Thirsty day today.”
“I’m not that thirsty,” Cindy said. She sat down.
“No, young lady,” the mayor said. “You’re my guest. I insist.”
Chester left then returned a moment later with a two glasses of water. The ice cubes were small and brittle. Sweat dripped down the sides of the glasses. Cindy politely took a sip.
Mayor Lane grabbed his glass. “Now,” he said, “Cindy, was it?”
Cindy nodded.
“Cindy, what do you want to know?”
“Mayor Lane, is the rise in misdemeanor thefts around the city a temporary spike, or do you think there’s more to it?”
Mayor Lane chuckled. “What? Are you asking if I believe the ghost stories about a man organizing the small-timers? The Guild of Thieves? Absolutely not. We are setting record high temperatures. Our welfare bill is higher than it’s ever been, as is unemployment. The spike, and that’s all it is, the spike in crime in Colta City is easy to explain. Most importantly it was expected. Our fine Colta City PD is prepared to face this perfectly normal spike in activity. Most students start with ‘What does the mayor do?’ by the way. Good to see one of you who has an interest in current events.”
“Yeah,” Cindy said, “I gotcha. Yeah. Now I had a question about the… West—” Cindy’s eyes closed. She fell over on to the couch. Her water spilled on the carpet. Mayor Lane sat his water on the end table.
“Chester,” he called, “I might need a hand here.”
Bronson sat on his mattress shoving some tuna and crackers in his mouth as he worked on his homework for TV class. He was trying to find a way to make that afternoon’s student council meeting interesting for the next day’s edition of WWJH News. They’d talked about decorating the halls for the spring fling. Bronson figured they might as well call themselves the social council instead of the student council. It would be more accurate.
As he shoved the last few crackers into his mouth the door to his room slammed open. Randolph stood on the other side. He shoved Bronson back into the room. Bronson crawled back over to the wall. He’d seen his uncle flippant, annoyed, even happy… never angry like this.
Randolph held up an empty tuna tin. “I thought I made it clear that my food is mine. You don’t touch it,” he said. He paced back and forth a few times then chucked the empty can at the wall next to Bronson’s head. “Just because you’re living here it doesn’t mean you have permission to use whatever you’d like.”
“But I gotta eat, don’t I?” Bronson asked.
“What did I tell you when you first moved in? I said you were going to have to contribute. Eating my food is not contributing. It’s stealing, and nobody likes a thief. Trust me. I’ll bet you haven’t even thought about looking for a job yet.”
Bronson realized at that moment he hadn’t. He’d been so busy with school and his training it hadn’t occurred to him.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Randolph. I’ll look tomorrow.”
“You’d better. Or you won’t be coming back here anymore. Word to the wise: I hear the fine citizens of Colta City treat street kids less than kind. You should think about selling some of your things.” Randolph jiggled the padlock on Bronson’s trunk.
“Don’t touch that, it’s mine,” Bronson said.
“Why is it locked?” Randolph asked. ”What are you hiding in there?”
“Nothing,” Bronson said. He held the door open for his uncle. “It’s all my old junk. Comics and clothes. I just keep it locked in case somebody breaks in or something.”
“Looks like your dad’s. Did he leave you something, Bronson? Holding out on your old uncle, are you?”
“Just the trunk. I swear.”
Randolph tugged on the lock. “If you can find a buyer it might buy you a few more nights. The hunt begins tomorrow, nephew. Knock ‘em dead.”
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