“Don’t worry. I’m sure he learned his lesson when you yelled out the window at him to ‘hush’ and called him a ‘big rude bully.’”
I laugh at the memory, but what makes it even better is that I know without a shadow of a doubt that Ivy would have firmly put that man in his place had he been standing in front of her and not in the shitty Ford Focus behind us. You don’t fuck with a pissed-off, determined Ivy Rivenbark. I pity the fool who tries.
“Ugh, whatever. He is a big, rude bully, and he should hush.”
“You’re right, you’re right. But seriously,” I reach over the seat and rub her shoulder, “you did a great job.”
She studies me for a minute, no doubt searching for any hint that I’m placating her, but I know she doesn’t find it because soon a smile is blooming on her face and pop!, out comes that fucking dimple that I hate to love.
“I did do pretty great, didn’t I?” She shimmies a little and pumps her fists in the air. “Dan-i-ca Pa-trick!”
I shake my head, grinning like a dumb ass. “Let’s go inside, speed racer. I’ll grab your bags.”
We walk up the cracked sidewalk side by side, and when I swing the door open for Ivy, she calls out for her little brother.
“Bug,” she shouts, louder than necessary for the tiny house, but that’s because Jacob probably has headphones in. “Jake-a-bug!”
“Ivy Bean!” he shouts from his bedroom, and then comes lumbering out in worn jeans and the Pokémon t-shirt I got him for his last birthday. “What are you doing here? Are you staying?”
“We’re home for the weekend! Ms. Pierce gave me Saturday off, and you said you needed help with math, so I’m at your service,” she exclaims and wraps him up in a tight hug.
“Thank you,” he whispers into her shoulder. Even though he’s only twelve, he’ll be taller than Ivy soon, and I can’t get over how much he’s changed from the little four-year-old boy I met eight years ago. There’s the same solemn tone to his voice that I heard when I called him the other day, and I know Ivy hears it too. I don’t know if he’s struggling in his classes, or if he’s lonely, or if those little punks at school are giving him trouble again, but my heart breaks a little.
“You okay, Bug?” Ivy asks as she tightens the hug. “Do I need to threaten some more flea-bag jerkfaces?”
He snorts and pulls away, shoving his thick glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “You can’t go threatening everyone who fucks with me, Bean.”
“The heck I can’t. And don’t cuss.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m j-just glad you’re home.”
Jacob used to be cool with all of his classmates, but it’s like last summer a few of them came back to school soulless, and Jacob’s thick glasses and asthma make him an easy target. And even though he’s almost mastered his stutter in normal conversation, the kids know it comes back when he’s overwhelmed or nervous, so of course they provoke him because they’re assholes. They also make fun of him because he stayed back in kindergarten an extra year, so he’s a little older than the rest of his class. I want to break their fucking kneecaps.
“Alright, well, Mom said she only works ‘til eight tonight so I got stuff to make dinner!”
Jacob’s face pales. “No, Ivy.”
“Hush, you. I’m not that bad.”
“Please. Just...no. We can make sandwiches or have hot p-pockets.”
“It’s only pizza, Bug,” she pouts, and I laugh. “And anyway, I was going to let you and Kelley do most of it.”
At that he heaves a sigh of relief and then turns to me.
“Whaddup, Kell?” He puts out a fist like he wants me to bump it, but I fake him out and pull him in for a hug.
“Don’t try to fist bump me, kid,” I tease as I headlock him and ruffle his hair. He’s laughing when I let him loose. “We’re family. We hug.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes. He’s showing more and more of an Ivy attitude each time I see him. It’s fucking brilliant.
“Alright, Jake. What do you say you and Ives get started on that math, and I’ll start the pizza? Sound good?”
“Yup!”
“Extra sausage!” Ivy sings.
I shake my head at her. “Fiend,” I tease, and she sticks her tongue out at me.