How to Get Dirt Page 4

  Giving her a dark frown, Lily picked up her chair and edged it two inches to the right. Lily then turned, and began speaking to a brunette across the aisle, who Pickles was pretty sure was named Francesca. Face burning, Pickles stared straight ahead.

  No. I can’t let one snooty girl keep me from making friends, or else I’m going to be unhappy the entire year. I can just talk to somebody else. Pickles turned around and glanced at Mary Lou, who was examining her manicure.

  “I like your nails,” Pickles said.

  Mary Lou peered at her, raising an eyebrow.

  At least I’m not being ignored this time. Pickles tried again. “I’m Pickles,” she offered, extending her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Completely ignoring the hand, Mary Lou continued to stare at her. Her lips pulled back over her teeth, revealing a dark smear of red on one front tooth. Pickles knew better than to point it out, and she knew even more to not pursue a conversation with Mary Lou. The girl looked like a tiger about to strike.

  Feeling sick to her stomach, Pickles turned and stared straight ahead as a plump, bespectacled teacher with flyaway hair came into the room with a history book tucked under her arm. Pickles didn’t think she would be enjoying this class much, either.

  ****

  Lunch was a blessing as much as it was a curse. When the bell rang to release them from class, Pickles had no idea who she was going to sit with. She clambered to her feet with her knees clacking together, grabbed her backpack, and prayed the day would get better. She had just started walking down the aisle when somebody kicked her leg from behind, sending her on a flying trajectory forward. The carpet rose to meet her.

  Pickles gasped, blinking in hurt, surprise, and confusion.

  “Oh, look at the fatty,” Mary Lou said. “Maybe you should lay off those pickles, Pickles, and then you could do more than roll around on the floor.”

  With her face burning, Pickles struggled to her feet to run from the classroom as fast as her legs could carry her. She went inside a bathroom, selected a toilet, and drew up her knees to cry. She wept until she felt puke might just come out her nose. No way would she eat anything now or go to the cafeteria to get some food.

  She stayed in the bathroom stall all the way until she heard the bell through the bathroom door. Unfortunately, she had to leave her sanctuary. She unlocked the stall door and eased out. When she stared in the mirror, she sighed. Her eyes were red, making it obvious she had been upset.

  The other girls are going to know they got to me. Maybe I should skip my next class. Yet she couldn’t stomach the idea of getting in trouble the first day and having Miranda get a phone call. She shuddered, spun, and walked out of the bathroom. When she went into the hallway, she kept her head down and walked with her jacket about her ears. A couple of girls giggled as she passed them, so she knew they were making fun of her. She wasn’t sure what they were saying, but she knew, deep down, sometimes it was better not to know.

  ****

  Miranda drove up to the curb. Pickles trembled and her queasy stomach threatened to spew. She felt as if she was about to burst from all of the bad, icky feelings inside of her. She couldn’t remember feeling this sad or angry, not even when she thought about her parents leaving her. Sadly, she didn’t even have anyone to tell about it. She didn’t want to be a trouble to David or Miranda.

  Pickles opened the car door and sat down.

  “Hello, Pickles.”

  “Hello,” Pickles said, shooting Miranda a nervous look.

  Luckily, Miranda didn’t appear to notice anything. She was grinning at the sidewalk as if a shower of gold had burst from it.

  Maybe it will be easier to pretend nothing is wrong than I thought.

  But Pickles wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing.

  Chapter Nine

  That night, after finishing her homework, she lay on the bed with the door cracked open. She heard someone softly call her name, and the door creaked so she sat up. Both of her foster parents came in to see her. Forcing a smile on her face, she pretended everything was okay. It would have been easier for her to have swallowed a bowling ball.

  Miranda came over and sat by her on the bed. “Pickles, I realize today I seemed distant to you. I wanted to apologize. It was your first day of school, and I should have been more attentive to your needs. I’m sorry.”

  David came in too and sat by Miranda. He took her hand. Worry clawed its way up her throat, fueling the tears that pricked the backs of her eyelids. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  “How was school?” David asked. “How were your classes?”

  “The classes were interesting,” Pickles said. That much, at least, was true.

  “Interesting,” David said, a smile crossing his face. “Oh, how I miss school. Time of my life. Interesting classes, good friends, beautiful women.”

  Miranda fake punched David in the stomach. He massaged it, feigning a wince. “Ouch.”

  Pickles smiled and Miranda play hit her too. The next thing Pickles knew, she was being tickled wildly from both sides. Under the attack of their fingers, she started to giggle. Soon she was laughing so hard she couldn’t stop, tears of mirth pouring down her cheeks. Miranda and David were both laughing too.

  David and Miranda collapsed into each other’s arms and Pickles flopped backward onto her bed, gasping for breath. David and Miranda laid down too. David grabbed one of her hands and then Miranda grabbed the other.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Pickles,” Miranda said.

  “Me too,” David said.

  “But we do have something we need to tell you.”

  Her blood ran cold. What was it? Were they going to tell her that her time here was up? She’d had such an awful day already. She couldn’t handle the thought of losing her family, too. She gripped their hands harder, as if doing that could keep her with them. Already, she loved them so much.

  “Are you okay, Pickles?” Miranda asked.

  “Yeah,” Pickles said, “just tell me, please.”

  Both Miranda and David exchanged looks.

  “I’m pregnant,” Miranda said, her face splitting into a grin. “Isn’t that great? That was why I was so out of it today. I wanted to take the test, but I was nervous.”

  Miranda was going to have a baby. Happiness mingled with sadness. Pickles wasn’t sure how she could feel two opposite emotions at the same time, but she could. She was glad Miranda was having a baby, but she knew something else too. In a case like this, she was a replacement child. The moment the baby came, she was going to be moving out.

  “I’m so happy for you,” Pickles forced out, her heart feeling as though it was going to crack in two.

  “I have wanted a baby for so long,” Miranda said, hugging her close. “Both of us have. We tried and tried. Then we gave up and decided to adopt, which led us down the road to you. Now we’re finally getting what we’ve always wanted. A family.”

  With a smile, Pickles allowed both of her foster parents to hug her. It became official, then. Today was the worst day ever. She had to talk to Mrs. Beazley. She had to get all of these feelings off of her chest, before they crushed her.

  ****

  She knew Mrs. Beazley’s number by heart. She had called it often when she was at her old foster home. She had hoped she wouldn’t need to call Mrs. Beazley for help while she was with David and Miranda, yet here she was with the phone in her hand as she sat in her room. Downstairs, she knew her foster parents were watching a funny adult sitcom on television and they would not be up to check on her for a while.

  The phone rang three times before Mrs. Beazley picked up.

  “Mrs. Susanna Beazley, social worker,” Mrs. Beazley said.

  Pickles could tell by her voice Mrs. Beazley didn’t recognize her.

  “Mrs. Beazley, it’s Pickles.”

  Mrs. Beazley’s surprised gasp made Pickles smile. Her social worker always managed to make her feel loved.

  “Is everything okay, Pickles?” Mrs. Beazley asked.
“Your foster parents aren’t being mean to you, are they?”

  “No, they’re perfect,” Pickles said. “They are so perfect it scares me. I don’t know why.”

  “Could it be, Pickles, you’re afraid of being sent away?”

  The question was an arrow straight to Pickles’ heart. Amid an unstoppable flow of tears, she told her old friend everything. By the time she hung up the phone forty-five minutes later, she was all cried out but felt much better.

  Chapter Ten

  A persistent sound of knocking came from downstairs. Pickles ignored it and continued to draw her picture for art class. Vaguely, she heard Miranda open the door and say something. But it was the familiar voice who answered that brought Pickles’ head up. Mrs. Beazley! It was Mrs. Beazley. With a happy cry, Pickles dropped her pencil then left the room at a sprint.

  She hurtled down the stairs, jumped the last three, and then launched herself at Mrs. Beazley with her arms spread wide. Mrs. Beazley hugged her so hard air left her lungs in a squeak. Her heart sang with joy so great it took her breath away.

  “What about me?” asked a hopeful voice from the doorway.

  Pickles glanced around Mrs. Beazley. Prudence stood behind her, grinning and waving. Fierce joy began in her heart and coursed through Pickles. When she hugged Prudence tight, she realized how lonely she had truly been at school. She missed sending Prudence notes and giggling about teachers. She missed long talks at lunchtime and group projects.

  “I missed you so much,” Pickles said, stepping away.

  Miranda wore a frown on her face when she turned. Pickles wasn’t one hundred percent sure why.

  “Mrs. Beazley, I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” Miranda said. “David and I were actually going to call you tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Beazley’s face became stony. “I see. Well, I’m here now. Why don’t we have Pickles show Prudence her room? We can discuss what you need to over a cup of coffee before I take the girls to lunch.”

  “We’re going to lunch?” Pickles and Prudence both asked at the same time.

  “If it’s okay with your guardian,” Mrs. Beazley said, looking at Miranda.

  “It’s fine,” Miranda said, though she didn’t smile. Concern washed over Pickles as she stared at Miranda. What was she thinking?

  Prudence grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the stairs. “Come on! I want to see your room.”

  “Go on, Pickles,” Mrs. Beazley said. “I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”

  Even though Pickles didn’t want to, she went up the stairs with Prudence in front of her. But her thoughts remained behind, with the adults.

  I wonder what they’re talking about, she thought, as she reached the top landing.

  After opening the door, Pickles beckoned Prudence inside of her room. Prudence gasped at the ivy wallpaper and the princess canopy bed. Pickles shut the door behind them, then headed over to her bed and flopped down on it while Prudence wandered around the room letting out gasps of awe.

  A moment later, Prudence flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling too.

  “What are we doing?” Prudence asked breathlessly.

  “I’m staring at the ceiling.” Pickles turned her head to stare at her friend. “What are you doing?”

  “Okay,” Prudence said, launching to her feet. “What’s the matter? Mrs. Beazley said you called her — didn’t say about what — and she wanted me to come with her to visit you. Now you’re all sad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sad. Your eternal optimism is one of your most loveable and annoying traits. How can you not be happy here? In this place? You have your own room. I mean, how awesome is that?”

  Pickles told Prudence everything. By the time she was done, Prudence fixed a stare on Pickles, a somber look on her face.

  “They’re having a baby? That’s bad news. Real bad news.”

  “I know,” Pickles said, her voice getting more high-pitched. The fact that her friend had echoed her own thoughts only made it worse. “I just hope they will still keep me around. Maybe I’m overreacting.”

  “Oh, come on, Pickles,” Prudence said. “Your optimism can only get you so far. You know how it is. We’re like the spare kid nobody wants. We’re the substitute. Like how a cat lady gets cats because she didn’t get a husband or kids. We’re the cats.”

  “That isn’t true…” Pickles said, though she knew it was.

  A moment of silence went by. Prudence got closer in her face and puffed out her cheeks like a chipmunk. With a laugh, Pickles jumped back.

  “That’s better,” Prudence said. “That’s the Pickles I remember.”

  “But what am I supposed to do?” Pickles asked. “How am I supposed to get them to want to keep me? It’s not like I can tell them about the girls at school. That will just be a sign to them I don’t belong in their world. I want to belong here. I want to be a part of their family more than anything else.”

  Prudence stared at her. “I don’t know. I’m the troublemaker foster kid, remember? You’re the nice one everybody wants because you get them money but don’t do anything wrong.”

  With a moan, Pickles gripped her head.

  “Okay, fine,” Prudence said. “I think I know something you can try, but you aren’t going to like it.”

  Normally, Pickles didn’t like any plan of Prudence’s, but at that point, she was willing to do anything. She glanced at Prudence and nodded her head.

  “You have to find out something about them, something so horrible they wouldn’t want it spread around outside of the home,” Prudence said. “I did it once to Mr. Edinburgh. You remember him? He was kissing another lady, and for the year I stayed with him, he paid me fifty bucks a month to keep my mouth shut. You can do the same thing. As long as you get to stay with them, you won’t say anything.”

  “You want me to blackmail them?” Even the word sounded horrible on her tongue.

  “Is that what it is called?” Prudence asked. “I just thought I was being smart.”

  “No, it’s blackmail.” On every cop show she’d ever watched, those scenarios ended badly. “I don’t know if there is anything about them to find out. They aren’t like Mr. Edinburgh or the families I have had before. They are so kind.”

  Prudence approached, then grabbed Pickles by the shoulders and began to shake her until her teeth clacked together and her neck ached.

  “How bad do you want to stay with your family?” Prudence asked.

  “More than anything.”

  “Then you are going to have to find something on them.” Prudence grinned. “Be perfect on the outside, but the moment their backs are turned…”

  “But I don’t know the first thing about blackmail.”

  With a cackle, Prudence turned around and went to Pickles’ desk, where she grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and then began to write in bold letters, HOW TO GET DIRT. She then began to number the lines down the side.

  “You’re lucky you have a master at work here,” Prudence said, as she wrote down sentences Pickles couldn’t read from where she sat. A moment later, Prudence balled up the piece of paper, whirled around, and then hurled it at Pickles’ head.

  Pickles picked up the paper and read.

  HOW TO GET DIRT

  1) Ask the neighbors all sorts of questions.

  2) Check the numbers in their cell phones and ask everybody who they are.

  3) Come home at random times during the day. See if they act guilty.

  4) Search the house and their computers.

  Pickles peered down at the paper and gasped. Prudence honestly expected her to do all of this stuff? She had never been able to lie well, yet she was going to have to make excuses to ask the neighbors questions and call strangers’ cell phones?

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said, feeling queasy.

  With another cackle, Prudence grabbed her shoulders again. “You can do it, Pickles. I know you can.”

  She nodded her head. Maybe she could. Maybe she had to.
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  ****

  Mrs. Beazley took them to a Spanish restaurant for lunch. Pickles ordered quesadillas with sour cream and salsa. The food tasted great. To Pickles’ surprise, Miranda came along, even though she had been sure Miranda was supposed to be at work. Across from her sat Prudence and Mrs. Beazley. Prudence kept casting looks at Miranda over her taco salad. Maybe it was because the atmosphere felt awkward somehow, though Pickles couldn’t figure out why. She had never felt awkward around Mrs. Beazley before. Maybe it was because the conversation between Mrs. Beazley and Miranda seemed forced.

  When they had finished their meal, the waitress appeared and stared at them with a big, fake smile. “Are you finished?”

  Miranda glanced around at everybody. “Yes, I think so. Are you done, Pickles?”

  “Yes, Miranda,” Pickles said. “It was good.”

  “How should I split the check?” the waitress asked, looking at Mrs. Beazley and then at Miranda.

  “Oh, I’ll pay for it.” Miranda reached for her wallet, but Mrs. Beazley shook her head.

  “No, I’ll cover it,” Mrs. Beazley said. “Pickles and I are old friends. I’ve got it.”

  But Miranda didn’t like that. Her lips pursed. The waitress’s eyes widened in confusion.

  “One check then?” The waitress frowned. “Should I just bring over the bill for the food?”

  Miranda nodded and the waitress disappeared.

  “I can pay for the meal,” Miranda said, frowning. “You drove all the way here to see my Pickles.” She laid her hand on top of Pickles’ and grinned.

  “Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Beazley said. “I didn’t even warn you I was coming. Awfully rude of me, unannounced. Let me make up for it.”

  Both of them stared at each other. Pickles felt confused. It was almost like they were fighting, but it was like no fight she had ever seen. Nobody was raising their voices, nobody was throwing dinner plates. Both Mrs. Beazley and Miranda were smiling. Yet things were so awkward, Pickles felt as if she was swimming around in a soup of tension.