The Reckless Club Read online

  “Activities?” Ally asks. “I thought we were helping to clean or something.”

  “No, no,” Mrs. Mitchell says, her smile stretching even farther. “We have so many fun activities planned. I feel that contributing to society is what brings about change, not isolating people for wrongdoing. So we’ll be doing fun things—crafts, preparing meals, maybe even something artistic—I just can’t wait!” She claps like a walrus Jason once saw at a zoo.

  “You’re going to love it here!” Mrs. Mitchell continues. “It’s so fun and so well run that you’ll never want to leave.”

  Principal Hardy forces a crack-in-cement smile despite the audible groan from every student. “Mrs. Mitchell says she wouldn’t miss an opportunity to have you interact socially with residents.”

  Jason’s eyes flick between Hardy and Rex, who stood up abruptly at Mrs. Mitchell’s words. Hardy shakes his head ever so slightly, eyes locked with Rex. She slumps back into the seat. No one but Jason seems to have noticed the exchange. Jason’s fingers drum on his backpack as he leans against an armchair, a safe place outside of the drama on the two couches.

  “Our seniors love to talk with young people,” says Mrs. Mitchell, bouncing a little more. “First, I’ll pair you each with someone who could use a great listening ear.” She tugs on her ear and winks. Rex slams her head on the couch back.

  “Interview them, ask questions, get to know them,” Principal Hardy instructs.

  Lilith runs her hands over her dress so the pleats stay smooth. “That’s exactly what I was planning to do—approach this as research for future method acting.”

  “Acting?” Mrs. Mitchell claps her hands together. “You’re an actress?”

  Lilith nods and says, “I’ve been the lead in all the community and middle school productions.”

  “I thought that new kid, the blonde, was going to be the lead last time?” Wes cuts in.

  “That was a last-minute casting change,” Lilith says primly. That’s one way of putting it, Jason thinks but keeps his mouth shut. “The point is,” she continues, “yes. I am an actress.”

  “Casting change?” Ally says. “I heard you went all Hulk backstage?”

  “Oh,” says Mrs. Mitchell, saving Lilith from replying. “The residents here love performances!” More frantic bouncing, this time with claps. “You could put on a skit for them!”

  “A what?” Ally and Rex say at the same time, then scowl at each other before turning to glare in different directions.

  “A skit.” The smug smile stretching across Principal Hardy’s face is Grinch-like and slow. “I like the sound of that. I’m also going to need a full-page letter—front and back—from each of you outlining what you learned throughout the course of the day.”

  “Yes!” Mrs. Mitchell cheers again. “At four o’clock, we have a half hour allotted for entertainment. Generally, we play bingo or charades, but I know the residents would much prefer watching an original skit!” She squeals. “Especially if it’s inspired by their own lives!” Clap, clap, clap. Bounce, bounce, bounce. “Oh, this is fabulous.”

  “Fabulous,” Wes echoes, and the dimple disappears from his cheek as he shakes his head. All four turn Rex-like death glares on Lilith, who once again straightens her dress.

  “Thanks a lot, Lily,” Ally hisses.

  “It’s Lilith.”

  “Okay,” Mrs. Mitchell says, “let’s meet our seniors! You can get to know them while helping to serve breakfast. If you’ll leave your bags here, I’ll have one of the aides put them in the meeting room where you’ll be having lunch.”

  The kids slip their phones into their pockets and drop their bags in front of Mrs. Mitchell, all except for Jason. “I’ll hang on to mine,” he says.

  Lilith grabs her satchel back, too.

  Mrs. Mitchell claps and bounces again, then turns, making her way past the giant tank full of tropical fish and down a hallway. Principal Hardy sighs and swoops up his arms like a conductor. The students groan and follow her. That is, all except for Rex, whose eyes stay locked on the fish tank, where a fat purple fish glides backward and then rushes forward into its own reflection again and again. Jason pauses beside her.

  Hardy clears his throat. Silently, Rex stands and trails behind the rest of the group toward the cafeteria.

  “Don’t worry,” Hardy says as Rex passes. “We’re staying off the third floor.”

  “As if I care,” Rex snaps, and barrels ahead, elbowing Jason to the side.

  “What’s on the third floor?” Jason asks the principal.

  But Principal Hardy just shakes his head. Under his breath, he says, “Don’t forget why you’re here, Jason.”

  9:00 a.m.

  LILITH “The Drama Queen”

  Lilith scans the cafeteria. It’s a sea of gray. People with gray hair and pale skin shoveling gray lumps of oatmeal into their mouths. The residents sit around large round tables, talking to one another, or, in some cases, to their oatmeal. Everybody has a story, Lilith reminds herself over the thump of her heart that sounds a lot like a stopwatch. They all just look boring. Underneath, I’m sure they’re all very exciting people.

  “Okay,” Mrs. Mitchell says with another bounce and clap. “Let’s partner up, shall we?” Mrs. Mitchell strides up to a tiny woman with wispy white hair on an otherwise mostly bald, wrinkled head. Lilith is reminded of a dandelion gone to puff atop a narrow yellowing stem. The woman’s mouth flops open and a noise like the snap of a lid on a Tupperware container leaks out.

  Mrs. Mitchell glances at the clipboard in her hands. “All right, Ally.”

  Lilith gives a quick prayer of thanks for alphabetical order as Mrs. Mitchell leans forward and wipes a little drool from the corner of the woman’s mouth with a paper napkin.

  “Opal, this is Ally,” Mrs. Mitchell bellows. “She’s going to get to know you a bit.”

  Ally swallows hard and takes a step back, right onto Jason’s foot. He grimaces but says, “It’s okay,” as if she had apologized. She ignores him, her eyes flicking from side to side. She then sidesteps into Lilith, who pushes her forward.

  “Is there anyone else—?” Ally murmurs, but Mrs. Mitchell is now leaning toward Opal.

  “Ally is going to help you with your breakfast today, Opal.” The old lady blinks wide blue eyes. Her mouth stretches into a toothless smile. “Oh, you forgot your teeth again today, didn’t you?” Mrs. Mitchell laughs and pulls out a chair for Ally.

  Ally doesn’t budge.

  “Go ahead,” says Mrs. Mitchell, pointing to the chair.

  Ally stares at Opal and then down at the tray in front of the old woman, filled with small containers of applesauce and oatmeal. She glances at Opal’s curled, bony hands resting on her thin lap. Ally grips her stomach with one hand and takes another step back, shaking her head. This time Jason moves with her. “I’ll take Opal,” he whispers, and smiles at the old woman.

  But Opal reaches out and grabs Ally’s hand. She tries to slip her hand out of the old woman’s knotty grasp while her eyes dart around the loud, bright cafeteria. Jason places his hand on her shoulder. Ally shudders, but finally sits in the plastic seat in front of Opal.

  “That’s it,” Mrs. Mitchell says. “Just give her a few spoonfuls of food, okay?”

  Jason takes the seat next to Ally without waiting for Mrs. Mitchell’s introduction. Across from him a man who looks to be in his nineties smiles and blinks his cloudy eyes.

  “I’m Mike,” he says to Jason.

  Great, Lilith thinks, no way could my person be worse than theirs.

  Mrs. Mitchell nods and writes Mike next to Jason’s name. The old man nods. Jason nods. Both turn toward Opal and Ally.

  “Come along, children.” Mrs. Mitchell beckons Wes, Rex, and Lilith toward the opposite end of the cafeteria. She stands in front of a frail-looking woman smiling blandly up at them. Her gray hair is in a knot at the back of her head. She’s knitting something with blue and orange yarn.

  Wes and Rex take a tandem step b
ackward just as Mrs. Mitchell turns, leaving Lilith front and center.

  “Perfect! Lilith!” Mrs. Mitchell says. “Now, Agnes, this is Lilith. She’s going to ask you questions so she can write a skit about you!”

  “About me?” Agnes chuckles. “Why, it’s going to be the most boring skit ever. I’ve called this little town home my whole life. All ninety-two years of it!”

  “Oh,” says Lilith, “I’m sure you’ve done something interesting in nine decades.”

  Agnes’s bottom lip pops out as she considers. “I made a quilt once.”

  Lilith leans over to Mrs. Mitchell. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone else who might be a better fit for me?”

  But Mrs. Mitchell just pulls out the chair and moves to another table, with Rex and Wes trailing behind.

  “Now, I’ve saved the best for last. You two are in for a treat. Hubert and Grace have the most wonderful stories to share! They grew up together, but just got married two years ago—right here at Northbrook!”

  “Hold up!” Lilith rushes forward and grabs Rex’s arm. She quickly drops it under Rex’s death glare and grabs Wes’s instead. Rex slumps into the seat in front of the old man.

  Lilith hisses at Wes, “This is my old lady. You can have Agnes.”

  Wes glances at Agnes, who’s clicking her knitting needles and humming, and then looks back at Grace, who’s adding another electric blue layer of nail polish to her fingernails, laughing raucously at something Hubert just whispered in her ear. His eyes slide to Rex, slouched across from the lovebirds. “Not a chance.”

  “Oh, Lilith!” Agnes calls out. “They’re passing out oatmeal! I just love oatmeal. Oatmeal, oatmeal, oatmeal!”

  Lilith scrunches shut her eyes and shudders. “I’m going to the bathroom first,” she calls out to Agnes. Under her breath, she adds, “To pray to Saraswati for wisdom on how to make a skit out of the world’s lamest old lady.”

  As Lilith stomps away, Agnes says down to her knitting needles, “I lived on dry oatmeal for those three days I spent drifting in the middle of the Atlantic on a piece of plywood. Just me and Quaker Oats. Soaked the rest in the saltwater to make little balls”—she mimes rolling dough with her knotty hands—“that I’d throw at the sharks if they got too close.”

  “What’s that, dear?” Mrs. Mitchell calls out as she waters the plants around the room.

  “Oh, just how much I love oatmeal,” Agnes replies. “Oatmeal, oatmeal, oatmeal!”

  Mrs. Mitchell smiles. “Sweet, simple Agnes.”

  9:15 a.m.

  WES “The Flirt”

  Short of wearing a sandwich box sign that read BACK OFF, Rex gives off every indication she is not interested in getting to know anyone, most of all Wes. All of which makes her even more interesting to everyone.

  Clearly Rex just doesn’t know him well enough yet. Wes sinks into the seat next to her, letting his legs spill out and arms fall at his sides. Rex narrows her eyes at the spot where his leg is barely an inch from hers. Slowly, he shifts his a little farther away.

  “So, what did you two do to be sentenced to a day of shoveling creamed carrots into our old pie holes?” Grace asks. She waves her just-painted fingers in the air until Hubert nabs her hands and gently blows on them.

  “Uh…” Wes’s ever-present smile slips a little at Grace’s question. He shakes his head to dislodge the memory of cruel laughter and his favorite teacher’s face crumpling. “It was a big misunderstanding.”

  Rex snorts.

  “What?” Maybe that’s why she acts like she hates him. Maybe she knows the truth about that day.

  “Everyone always says it’s a misunderstanding,” Rex says in a bored voice. “Whatever you did, own it.”

  “What’d you do?” Wes asks.

  “Nothing.” Rex crosses her arms.

  This time, Wes snorts.

  “Whatever.”

  “You had to do something. No one would be here if not.” Wes glances at Grace, ding smile back in place. “No offense.”

  “None taken, dearie,” she says, giggling as Hubert kisses her fingertips.

  Rex shudders.

  Wes nudges her again. “Does the sight of true love bother you?”

  “Of course not. There’s no such thing as true love.”

  All three of them—Wes, Grace, and Hubert—stare at Rex with mouths agape.

  Wes shakes his head. “You don’t believe in true love? Everyone believes in true love.”

  “It’s what woke Snow White,” Grace adds.

  “It’s what brought us together,” says Hubert, holding up Grace’s hand in his own. “It took us sixty-five years and the passing of both of our first spouses”—both he and Grace cross their hearts with their unclenched hands—“but true love brought us here.”

  “Yes,” Grace says. “We spotted each other across the bingo room, and it was like being in high school all over again. Only this time, I asked him out right away.”

  “Asked him out?” Wes cut in. “Where do you go out when you live here?”

  “Oh, you know,” Hubert says, “to the porch.”

  “And the swing,” Grace says in a singsongy voice.

  Suddenly the two of them are cheek to cheek, swaying gently back and forth, back and forth, singing softly. “And we were a-swinging… a swinging.…”

  Rex covers her eyes with her fists. When she looks up again, the old couple is still singing. Grumbling, she jumps to her feet and stomps toward the water fountain in the corner of the room.

  When she turns around, of course Wes is right there, leaning against the wall. “What’s your problem with love?”

  “Nothing. How could I have a problem with something that doesn’t exist?” Rex pushes by Wes, knocking his back against the wall.

  He grabs her elbow to stop her. Quickly she whips around, jerking her elbow out of his hand and shoving him against the wall, intentionally this time.

  “Don’t touch me!” she hisses, her face fierce and eyes wild. “Don’t you ever touch me!”

  “Sorry! Sorry!” Wes holds up his hands. “I won’t touch you again. I swear!”

  Rex shoves him again, knocking his shoulder blades against the cinder block, then backs away.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Wes whispers as she stomps off. She grabs the chair she had been sitting in and drags it to the edge of the cafeteria table, facing toward the hall and away from Grace and Hubert.

  Wes huffs out a deep breath and shakes his head but can’t lose the image of Rex’s face inches from his. She wasn’t just angry. She had looked panicked. Jason, the quiet kid, is watching him from behind his fringe of hair. Wes smirks and shrugs in a can-you-believe-that-girl? way. Jason doesn’t smile—just turns toward the old lady Ally is trying to feed. Ally’s hands are shaking so badly that the applesauce splashes from the spoon across the old lady’s cheek. Jason, Wes notices, is sitting on his hands.

  Wes glances around to see if anyone else saw Rex’s freak-out. Lilith, her face red and nostrils flaring, is sitting across from a woman singing about oatmeal balls. Principal Hardy has his back to the room, yelling something into a cell phone, and Mrs. Mitchell is clapping for two men playing ping-pong in the far corner of the room. Wes’s eyes settle on Rex, or, more precisely, on the back of her head. Her short hair is a few different lengths, like she grabbed hunks of it and hacked at it with a pair of scissors. He realizes this is probably exactly what she had done and felt another surge of… something. Curiosity, maybe?

  He moves back to the table. Hubert and Grace are snuggling and singing, and, for some reason, the sound now grates on Wes’s ears. He sits on a different chair; it’s close to Rex but still far enough away.

  Rex is shooting death beams at a nurse in pink-and-blue teddy bear scrubs.

  Finally, Wes stands and drags his seat next to hers.

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” Rex groans.

  “What’s your problem with Teddy Bear Nurse over there?” When Rex turns toward him, Wes holds up his hands
in a pose of surrender. He breathes out as she slumps back in her seat.

  “I hate her.” Rex tilts away from Wes toward the nurse.

  “Why?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’m interested.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “Can’t help it,” Wes says.

  “I don’t like you,” Rex replies.

  “That’s okay. I like you.” And it’s not until he says it that Wes feels it for real. He does like her, even though she doesn’t like him back. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t like him back. Everyone likes him and so they aren’t as likable to him.

  Rex whips around to him, two red splotches on her cheeks, and Wes realizes he’s startled the unshakeable Rex Gallagher.

  Wes grins. Ding!

  “You better not be messing with me.”

  “I’m not. You’re interesting.”

  Rex sighs as Teddy Bear Nurse disappears behind the kitchen’s swinging door. “It’s going to be a long day.”

  “Plenty of time to get to know each other.” Ding!

  “Stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Smiling.”

  Before he can answer, Mrs. Mitchell claps her hands and calls out, “Do any of you children need to use the little boys’ or little girls’ rooms?”

  All five hands shoot into the air.

  “All right,” she sing-songs as she leads them toward the exit. “Principal Hardy has had to leave for a spell.” Her voice lowers. “From what I gathered, two teachers started fighting over who gets Smart Boards in their classrooms and so he needs to mediate the argument over at the school.” Her mouth twitches as she delivers the news. She bounces a little and claps again. “So, let’s just go to the restrooms, and then we can work on those skits!”

  A crash and subsequent yelling makes all of them whip around toward the ping-pong table. One of the players has his paddle up in the air like a sword, swinging it toward the other player, who takes aim and throws the white ball at the first player’s forehead.

  “Miserable cheat!” the ball-thrower bellows.