Sorta Like a Rock Star(7)

That was it.

No reprimand.

No threats to tell my mother.

No guilt trip.

I’ve never stolen anything since—not even a piece of paper from school—and never will ever again, no matter how bad things get. Word.

As I finish cooking the last omelet, Donna scans through the business section of the paper and mumbles stuff about all her stocks shitting the bed.

I marvel at her—a woman with stocks and business suits and her own house. And then, I’m secretly wishing that she were my mother, which I realize is a terrible thing to wish, but I can’t help it.

“Amber Appleton uses hot sauce in her omelet. Yes. She likes to cook omelets on Tuesday mornings. Yes. Amber Appleton is very pretty and I would like to kiss her under the apple tree because she is Amber Apple-TON! Yes.”

“Good morning, Ricky,” I say to my friend, who is wearing his Tuesday Chase Utley home jersey—number 26.

“Amber Appleton is going to take Ricky Roberts out of Ricky Roberts’ house tonight but he doesn’t know where and Mommy Roberts will not tell him. Mommy Roberts will not tell him where. Yes!”

“We’re going to do a mission tonight. Remember?” I say to the now-seated Ricky while placing an omelet in front of him. “And when the Franks Freak Force Federation does a mission, how does Ricky Roberts receive information?”

“Ricky Roberts receives information on a need-to-know basis. Need to know. Yes,” Ricky says, and then begins eating his omelet. “Need-to-know basis.”

We can’t tell Ricky secret hooey, because he says whatever he thinks, and therefore can’t keep a secret to save his life.

I remove a plate from the oven and place it in front of Donna. “Can you still make it tonight?” I ask her.

From behind the business section, she says, “As your attorney, I advise you to videotape the proceedings.”

“But we don’t have a—”

“As your attorney, I have taken the liberty of securing a video camera and will be personally documenting everything that takes place tonight.” She drops the paper and looks into my eyes. “Just make sure your boys know their lines. I’m counting on you to make this mission successful, because you’re the leader of The Five, right?”

Donna winks at me and I almost crap my pants as she samples my omelet.

“Does this have tequila in it?” Donna asks.

I nod once and swallow.

“Nice. Coffee?”

I all but run to the coffeemaker and pour Donna a large cup. She drinks it black.

“Thanks,” she says. “Are you not eating?”

“Can I use your bathroom first?”

Donna nods once and disappears behind the business section again.

Upstairs, in the bathroom, I strip down quickly, brush my teeth with the toothbrush stored permanently on Amber’s Shelf, floss, use mouthwash, and then I’m in the shower washing my hair, using Donna’s expensive conditioner, trying to keep my long black hair shiny. I do this all super quickly, so I don’t use too much of Donna’s hot water, because hot water costs money. I towel off, use the deodorant and perfume and makeup that Donna buys for me, redress, and then return to the kitchen, where BBB has fallen asleep on the little braided mat in front of the sink.

My hair is soaking wet, but neither Ricky nor Donna say a word about my needing to use their shower. Ricky is used to my using his place as a second home, and Donna is too classy to bring up the sore subject of my needing to freeload off her.

I wolf down my omelet and then do all the dishes and clean up the kitchen while Donna reads the rest of the paper and Ricky does math equations in his workbook. He is a frickin’ math genius. I take BBB out for one last pee, and then I kiss him goodbye just before I lock him up in his room, which is an unused first-floor bedroom with a doggie bed, tons of chew toys, a water dish, and even a radio, which we keep on the classical station to calm B Thrice’s nerves. (B3 loves Chopin. I know because my pup starts jumping in the air like a maniac every time some Chopin-playing dude tickles that piano.) Just like every other morning, BBB starts crying and scratching at the door as soon as it’s shut, which breaks my heart and makes me feel bad about Donna’s door getting all clawed up, even though she says she doesn’t give a crap about that room and has tons of money for buying new doors or whatever.

We hop into her Mercedes—heated leather seats, which are pretty killer. True? True. We rock out to Dinosaur Jr., which is an obscure indie band of olden days. Donna digs unheard-of bands like Dinosaur Jr. She even has cool taste in music. We listen to “Feel The Pain” three times, because Ricky likes that one, and then we are at Childress Public High School, so Donna shuts off the tunes.

“Amber, what do you have after school today?”

“The Korean Divas for Christ at three thirty.”

“You can get Ricky home first?”

“No worries.”

“Ricky, are you going to be good today?”

“Yeah-ssssss,” Ricky says in his goofiest robot voice.

“Are you going to repeat dirty words?” Donna asks.

“Nooooooooooooo!”

“What happens if you do?”

“Amber Appleton will not go to prom with Ricky Roberts. Yes.”

“That’s right. So behave your little behind. Be the gentleman I know you are.” To me, Donna says, “Tell Franks Freak Force Federation that we meet at my house at seven sharp. I’m not picking all of their little butts up individually, because I’m in court all day—murder trial. But if they pull off the mission without screwing up too badly, we’re going to Friendly’s afterward.”