Page 22 of June First
June catapults herself into my arms, nearly knocking me backward. “Have a marker day, Bwant!” she tells me, squeezing me so hard that I wheeze. Marker means remarkable. She’ll only be four years old next month, so she still struggles with her vocabulary. Then she waves madly to the school bus, to where Theo’s hand is poking through a crack in the window. “Bye, Theo!”
“Bye, Peach!” Theo yells back.
“Brant…” the bus driver says again. “Last call.”
“Okay, sorry!” I let go of June, smiling my goodbye as I pace back toward the bus. “See you after school, Junebug. I can’t wait for your recital tomorrow.”
She twirls the hem of her Little Mermaid nightgown, her copper-colored hair swinging with her. June has her very first dance recital this weekend. She’s been practicing since last fall, and I can’t wait to see her perform, all dolled up in a lollipop dress.
“I dance!” she says, hopping up and down. “Bye!”
I finally make my way to the school bus, where Miss Debbie is tsking her tongue. She sighs, then closes the mechanical door behind me. “If you two weren’t so darn cute, I would’ve left without ya.”
Sheepishly, I make my way down the aisle of the bus, looking for a vacant seat. To my surprise, Wendy Nippersink pats the space beside her.
“You can sit with me, Brant,” she says, glancing my way with an unreadable expression.
I falter for a second, but don’t want to hold the bus up any longer, so I slip into the seat. Craning my neck around Wendy and her devil hair, I wave to June and Mr. Bailey as the bus begins to roll away. June is held up high in her dad’s strong arm, while his other hand grips his coffee mug. They are both smiling behind us as we disappear down the quiet street, and I swear his platypus slippers are smiling, too.
“Why’d your dad have big brown ducks on his feet?”
Wendy’s equally big brown eyes are staring right at me, her lashes so long they almost reach her eyebrows. “He’s not my dad.”
“Yes, he is.”
“No, he’s not. He’s Theo’s dad.”
She twists around, pulling herself up to her knees and finding Theo, one seat behind us. “Your dad is Brant’s dad, too, right?”
I remain facing forward, a little groan of irritation tickling my throat.
Theo replies, “Nope, he’s only my dad. And June’s. Brant just lives with us.”
“That makes no kinda sense.” Wendy huffs her disagreement, falling back down to her butt with a swishy sound. I can see her watching me out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t dare look at her. “So, why’d he have ducks on his feet, anyway?”
“He didn’t. They were platypuses.”
“No such thing.”
“Fine, Wendy. No such thing.” I’m really annoyed with her, so I cross my arms, lean my head back, and close my eyes.
She pokes me in the ribs with her finger.
“What?” I bark.
“Wanna play after school today?”
Wendy never asks me to play, so she must be up to no good. “No, thanks.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve always been rotten to me. I don’t like you very much.”
“Maybe I like you.”
My eyes snap open. She’s staring at me, all wide-eyed and innocent looking, but I know better. “You’re a liar. You called me a fartknocker.”
“That was before I liked you,” she says, her composure cool and calm, like we’re talking about classwork or something minor. She gives her high ponytail a sharp tug, tilting her head to one side. Two eyes like cinnamon are glittering in my direction, and with a satisfied smile, Wendy mutters, “I do like you, Brant Elliott. You’ll see.”