The Secret Life of Lincoln Jones

  It was probably stupid to think that my disappearin’ into a beanbag chair for fifteen minutes meant my problems would disappear for good.

  The fifteen minutes was nice, though. Agent Leroy had ducked through a maze of corridors and was now tailing the Ninja Cat Woman, who thought she was tailin’ a double agent! I even laughed out loud once ’cause the picture in my head was so funny.

  Then lunch was over and I went back to class in time to see Colby shove Kandi. They were over by the Golden Rule board, but I guess it’s hard to read about doin’ unto others when you’re coming to blows, ’cause Kandi cried, “Hey!” and shoved her back, hard.

  Benny Tazmin—who sits by the United We Stand wall and had just before lunch been scolded for “disruptive behavior”—jumped up and called, “Catfight!” and seemed super excited that someone besides him might be getting in trouble.

  “Girls! Girls!” Ms. Miller cried. “Stop that!” She broke them up like a referee sending boxers back to their corners. “Now, what is the problem?”

  The rest of the class was moving in for a better look. “I’m sick of her spreading rumors!” Colby said, shooting eye darts at Kandi.

  “I wasn’t spreading rumors!” Kandi cried. “I was trying to help!”

  “Help?” Ms. Miller asked. “Help who?”

  A turkey-tail nail shot out in my direction. “Lincoln!”

  I tried to stop my eyes from gettin’ big and my face from screwin’ sideways, but they just wouldn’t stay put.

  Benny pointed at my face and laughed, “Dude, that’s priceless!” which made everyone else laugh, too.

  I tried to do a face erase, but Colby kept the horror going. “He doesn’t need help,” she shouted at Kandi. “You just can’t stand that he ignores you!”

  How had this happened? All I’d done was mind my own business.

  “Girls!” Ms. Miller cried. “Calm down!”

  Her words had the opposite effect on Kandi, who burst into tears and went flying out of the room.

  Ms. Miller sighed and said, “All right, everyone take your seat.” Then she went over to the classroom phone and called the office.

  The rest of the day was awkward. Kandi didn’t come back, and although Ms. Miller tried acting like nothing had happened, she was the only one. Notes were slippin’ around like they’d been buttered, and anytime I looked, I caught someone staring at me.

  Not at Colby, at me.

  They weren’t mean looks. Not like I was trapped in enemy territory. It was more like I was some weird animal in a cage at the zoo.

  When the end-of-school bell rang, I bolted out of there. I checked over my shoulder every two minutes on my way over to Brookside, making sure nobody was tailing me, and I was finally starting to breathe a little easier when Kandi stepped out from behind a tree and planted herself in front of me.

  “Aaaah!” I cried, jumping back. “Noooooo!”

  “Do you hate me?” she sniffed.

  “Yes” and “Leave me alone” would have ended things right then, but she was still crying, and her eyes were all puffy, and most of her turkey tails were completely chipped off. Which added up to me saying, “No!” like I actually meant it.

  Sometimes I really am dumber’n dirt.

  “Stop walking,” she whimpered. “Please stop walking.”

  She sat down on a concrete step near the tree and patted the space next to her. “I’m really sorry. I was just trying to help!”

  I wasn’t about to sit down, but I also couldn’t stop from asking, “Help with what? Troy? It doesn’t help that now he has an actual reason to be mad at me! And tellin’ folks I was writin’ about them…I told you that wasn’t so!”

  “I told them you were a journalist,” she whimpered. “I was trying to make it sound important! I didn’t know the difference.”

  “What difference?”

  “Between a journalist and someone who makes up stories!” She grabbed a stick off the ground and started jabbing at the dirt. “Colby told me.”

  “But why’d you tell anyone anything?”

  She shrugged. “I was trying to help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “Friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Lincoln,” she said, looking at me like I was a poor, dying puppy, “you have no friends.”

  My cheeks got hot and my eyes pied out, and for the second time that day I could not do a face erase.

  And then with a sniff, she gave me a look that was all parts sad. Like she felt just awful about breaking the news to me. “The people in your stories are not real, Lincoln.”

  I could feel my whole face go hot. “What do you know?” I shouted, then started running away from her as fast as I could.

  I used to have friends. That was back before Cliff. After Cliff I was too busy hiding what he was like from my friends to notice I was losing them. I didn’t want them knowing the trouble I’d been in. I didn’t want them seeing the marks on me, which sometimes took weeks to clear up.

  So I hid the cryin’ and started lyin’.

  Back then, I believed the things Cliff yelled at me—that him being mad was all my fault. I thought I was the reason he was hurtin’ Ma.

  Back then, I didn’t understand about whiskey time.

  By the time Ma figured out what Cliff was up to while she was at work, I was used to doing the hush-and-hide. And her trying to fix things only made it worse for me when she wasn’t looking.

  One of the places I’d go to hide was inside my stories. I could be there for hours, quiet as a mouse. And when I was in the middle of an exciting part, or when the jail cell was about to clang loud with the sound of justice, I didn’t miss having friends. The friends I made up were enough.

  So Kandi saying what she did felt like a sucker punch. What did she know? About any of it?

  I was madder’n a hairy hornet, but once I was at Brookside, I got distracted by what was going on in the East Wing.

  Two oldies named Linda and June were facing off, fighting over a walker. Linda was on the inside of the walker, scooting forward, shouting “Move!” at June, who was on the outside, grabbing the crossbar, shouting, “Give it back! It’s mine!”

  Linda wasn’t about to. She shoved forward. “Move, you old coot!”

  Two oldies fighting over a walker wasn’t anything new or shocking. What was new and shocking was these two doing it. Linda and June were best friends and usually quiet, zoning out in front of the TV holding hands. But now they were shooting killer eye darts at each other, actin’ like they’d wrestle to the death over a walker.

  I looked around for a Purple Shirt—any Purple Shirt—but Ma and Gloria weren’t in the Clubhouse, and neither was Teena or Carmen.

  Then Debbie Rucker shouted, “What is your name?” at me, and Suzie York came up asking, “Do you know how to get out of here?” and Crazy Paula started tapping on the table like she was sending out a frantic message. And through all that, the Walker War was escalating.

  “It’s mine!” June shouted, shaking the bar.

  “Let go, or I’ll flatten you!” Linda yelled, shoving forward.

  “Catfight!” Teddy C called, sounding mighty gleeful from the comfort of an easy chair.

  Across the room, Debbie Rucker turned up the volume. “WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

  So I shouted back, “LINCOLN!” And since no Purple Shirts were showing up, I put myself in the middle of the Walker War, telling the battling oldies, “Now, now,” just like Gloria would have.

  “Tell her to let go!” Linda shouted.

  “Tell her to give it back!” June shouted louder, shaking the crossbar.

  Across the battlefield, Debbie hollered, “Lincoln was my favorite president!” while Suzie York tugged on my sleeve and begged, “Get me out of here!” and Teddy C cheered, “Catfight!”—this time from up on his feet.

  In the nick of time, Gloria came running out of Mrs. White’s room and saved the day. “June Bug, dear! There, there! What’s wrong?”

/>   “This thief stole my walker!” June snarled, keeping her eyes locked on Linda. “And now she’s saying it’s hers!”

  Gloria put her arm around June, and in a real soothing voice, she said, “Have you seen your zucchini? I think one might be ready to harvest.”

  “Is it?” June asked, turning to face her.

  “Mm-hmm,” Gloria said, gently pulling one of her hands off the walker. “Lincoln can show you.”

  I gave Gloria a look like, I can? But she gave me a pleading one back and whispered, “Mrs. White’s roommate just passed….It would help me so much if you could—”

  “Sure,” I said, calculating that Ma was probably inside the Psychic Vampire’s room and, with another roommate down, there wasn’t enough garlic on the planet to risk leaving her alone in there.

  So the next thing I knew, the Walker War was over and I was headed outdoors with Looney June to find a zucchini. Shuff, shuff, shuff, we walked, with her holding on to my arm and me thinking that walking old folks was not something that should be left to the young. It hurts to walk that slow. You can feel yourself growing old, walking that slow.

  Right outside the patio door, there’s a sunny table where the same small group of oldies hangs out on any nice day. There’s Sir Robert, who Ma says is not really a sir or named Robert. There’s Alice, who calls everyone sweet pea and claims she feels naked without her pearl necklace. And there’s Pam, who has little pom-poms strapped to her walker and wears a cheerleader top of some kind or another every single solid day. The school it’s from doesn’t matter—if there’s a megaphone on it, it’ll do.

  Alice may dress all proper, but she’s trouble. She’s worse than Teddy C, ’cause instead of a whoop or a whistle, Alice grabs your backside.

  I’m not fooling.

  The first time she grabbed mine, I whipped around, not believing what had happened, and she said, “Hello, sweet pea,” and gave me a wicked grin.

  The next time, I told her, “Don’t do that!” and she just laughed and said, “Do what, sweet pea?” which made her and Pam laugh like a couple of wrinkly-faced hyenas.

  Now I just swing wide when I have to walk by her. And that’s exactly what I was doing when Sir Robert called out, “Good evening, m’lady!” to Looney June.

  “She’s no lady!” Alice snapped at him.

  “Certainly not,” Pom-Pom Pam said, sizing June up with a frown.

  But June had her eyes on Sir Robert, who was all decked out in his usual button-down shirt, with a silky scarf tucked in around the collar. “Good evening!” she said with a little bow.

  “Where are you off to on such a glorious evening?” Sir Robert asked.

  June’s smile wilted as she tried to remember. Then it boinged back to life and she said, “Why, right here!” and headed for the only empty chair at the table.

  “No!” Pam said. “You can’t sit here!”

  Alice grabbed the arm of the empty chair and pulled it away from June. “Go away!”

  And I was in the middle of thinking that Brookside was just like school but with wrinkles when a voice behind me said, “Lincoln?”

  I could feel my blood do an instant curdle, and when I turned around, sure enough, it was Kandi.

  I stared at Kandi like I was seeing ghosts, my mind holding its cheeks, screeching in terror at the sight of her. How could this be? What was I gonna do? There was no escaping the way this was going to haunt me at school.

  “How’d you get in?” I choked out.

  “I told them I was your friend,” she said, looking around. “And I met your mom. She was, um, disposing of diapers?”

  “You are not my friend!” I said through my teeth. “You’re a stalker!”

  “Lincoln,” she said, like a pouty little puppy. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “Go away!”

  But now Sir Robert and the ladies were all tuned in.

  “Hello, sweet pea,” Alice said, twiddlin’ her pearls as she checked Kandi over.

  “Beautiful hair,” Pom-Pom Pam said.

  Alice nodded. “I could rule the world with hair like that.”

  “I once did!” Pam said. “I could grow it for miles. Best hair on the cheer team, hands down.”

  Alice let go of her pearls and scowled at June. “Good thing your granddaughter didn’t inherit your lousy hair.”

  June looked confused. Like she wasn’t really sure who these people were or why they were being mean to her.

  Kandi was keepin’ quiet, which was a relief until I saw that she was soaking it all up like a giant sponge.

  The same way she’d soaked up my story.

  That put me skidding into a double worry. How could I stop her from spreadin’ this all over school?

  “Guess you won’t be needing this,” Alice said, yanking the chair free from June.

  “Yes, have a nice walk,” Pam added.

  They were telling us to move along clear as a ringin’ bell, and with the chair yanked back, June was now hanging on to me for dear life.

  “Where are we going?” June asked as I pulled her along.

  “To look at your zucchinis, remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she said.

  We shuffled down the walkway a few steps, and I guess latching on to one arm wasn’t enough for her, ’cause she grabbed Kandi’s, too, turning us into a human walker. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, smiling at Kandi. “Do you want to see my zucchinis?”

  “Sure,” Kandi said, smiling back.

  Then June asked her, “How’s your mother?”

  “My mother?” Kandi looked like she’d been goosed, then turned to me with question marks flashing.

  I faked like I didn’t see.

  June frowned. “Why doesn’t she ever visit me?”

  “Visit you?” Kandi asked, sneaking pie-eyes my way.

  I gave her a dark look, which was all she deserved after nosing her way into Crazy Town.

  “It’d be nice to get a visit from her every now and then,” June said with a huff. “Is that too much to ask?”

  Kandi, for once, was speechless.

  “Well,” June said, shuff-shuff-shuffing along. “It’s nice that you’re here, dear, even if your mother can’t be bothered.”

  “Who is this?” Kandi mouthed at me.

  Which earned her another dark look.

  The “courtyard” at Brookside is a maze of walkways that go winding around the Activities Room and the two wings. It’s where the oldies get their sunshine and go for walks. There are nice plants and garden decorations, but if you look past the flowers and trees and fake squirrels, you start to see that you’re trapped inside the walls of a fort.

  As we shuffled to a T in the walkway, where the choice was to go left toward the garden and the West Wing or right to a dead end, we saw about six oldies congregating at the dead-end fence.

  I didn’t recognize any in the group, and for a minute I thought the guy in the middle might work at Brookside. He had a head of thick brown hair and didn’t look that old, but then I saw he was wearing pajama pants. And he was barefoot.

  The rest of the group were all women, and even though they were trying to whisper, they were fighting about something.

  “No! I get to go first!”

  “No, I do!”

  “He said I could!”

  Pajama Man was trying to look over the dead-end fence but couldn’t reach high enough. So he gave up and said, “Line up!” in a gruff voice.

  Two of the women had walkers and they jockeyed to get up front, but a tall lady in pink pants elbowed her way in.

  Pajama Man was stooped over now with his hands laced together.

  “What are they doing?” Kandi whispered.

  “Escaping,” I whispered back, forgetting that I was givin’ her the silent treatment.

  Pajama Man tried to give Pink Pants a boost, but she couldn’t seem to push herself up. And then there was a rush of feet from the left and a man’s voice shouting, “Stop!”

&
nbsp; “Quick!” the oldies all cried. “They’re coming!”

  “Sergeant Baker!” the man who was running shouted. “Sergeant Baker, stand down!”

  Pajama Man straightened up, then drooped, his whole body a flag of surrender.

  The others grumbled, and a couple of them cussed, but they all turned away from the dead end and started shuffling back toward the West Wing like a litter of naughty puppies.

  Gloria hurried up behind us, and when she saw that the group was heading back to the West Wing, she let out a big breath and asked me, “Maybe you can take June inside?” Then she smiled at Kandi and said hi, and eyed us back and forth like she was trying to figure out the situation.

  “I’m Lincoln’s friend,” Kandi said, lying through her teeth. “It’s nice that he comes here every day, isn’t it?”

  “It sure is,” Gloria said, giving me one of her sweet smiles.

  Then Kandi asked, “Is everyone here…?” and she wiggled a finger around by her head.

  “Oh, yes,” Gloria said with a laugh.

  And that was it.

  I was doomed.

  A s soon as Kandi got what she wanted, she was gone. I was left feeling like a skunked dog, knowing that kids at school were gonna start holding their noses around me and whispering behind my back. Did you hear? Lincoln spends his afters in a looney bin! His mom works there changing crazy geezers’ diapers!

  Ma wanted to know who my friend was, and she asked like it was something exciting.

  I went at her like a snapping turtle. “She’s not my friend! I hate her!”

  Ma tried finding out more, but I shut her down. And since she was still on the clock, she left me alone at my table, where I pictured everything that would happen at school the next day over and over in my mind until it felt like I belonged in Crazy Town.

  With all that had happened at school and after, I’d forgotten about what had happened before—about the Snickers and Levi and the tattletale wrapper.

  Ma hadn’t.

  My first reminder was when I saw Ma pack up leftovers. That made everything else flood back and made me want to stay put at my table in Crazy Town, even though Paula was tapping, and Debbie was shouting, and Ruby was trying to pull off her clothes.