“What do you need with a clothesline? You girls plan on doing an awful lot of laundry?” he says, snatching the rope out of my hand to check the price. “Either that or tying somebody up.” He laughs, but no, that’s not funny.
“Yeah, we plan on tying somebody up,” Tina snaps sarcastically. “People automatically think of laundry when they see girls buying rope. Like we don’t have dryers at home.” Whoa! I’m guessing she’s dealt with sarcastic old men before, or maybe the Confederate flag has put her on guard as well. Personally I thought the man would take her comment to be disrespectful, but he doesn’t. He just laughs.
“Feisty little one, aintcha?” He laughs again.
“Tina, we’re buying a clothesline, duh? What’s anyone to think?” Melissa tries to cool Tina’s jets. Or maybe Melissa doesn’t have a dryer at home.
“I’m just joshin’ with ya’z anyhow.” The old man peers over his reading glasses as he rings us up. “Y’all making a tree house or somethin’?” Now he’s just being nosy.
“No, sir,” Melissa answers. “We fixin’a jump some double Dutch.” What the heck is fixin’a?
“Double Dutch?” He seems amused. “I don’t know what that is, but it sure sounds fun.”
“Yessir, it’s some fancier way of skipping rope is all,” Melissa responds, with a heavier Southern accent than I’ve heard from her. I’m wondering if that’s how you’re supposed to relate to old-timer Southern folk. I might be right, because now it seems Melissa is the only one the man sees.
“Well, I’ll be darned. That means y’all will be playing outside like when I was a kid. That’s aw’right,” he says as he searches for and rustles a paper bag. “I can’t remember the last time I saw young girls skipping rope. Your generation is usually sittin’ in the house, playin’ them vidya games or something or other on them darn cellyur phones. And they wonder why they’re fat.” He laughs. Melissa’s smile turns upside down as she takes his comment personally. She snatches the rope off the counter and walks away.
“Wait a minute now.” He stops. “Who’s paying for that there merchandise?”
“I am.” I quickly dig into my pocket and pull out some of the money my dad gave me.
“Well, ain’t you cute as a button,” he says. “I don’t remember seeing you round these parts.” I shoot Sally a look. I swear, I feel like I’m in an old Western movie. I don’t say anything. Sally moves in to get the change.
“Thank you kindly, sir.” She throws on this heavy Southern accent that suits her all too well. “This is my cousin. She’s from New York. You know how those Yankees can be sometimes.” Is Sally selling me out? She whispers to me, without her accent, “Some Southerners are stuck in a time warp. Just smile and let’s get out of here.” I do as she says as we walk to the exit. I was right—there is some sort of code way of relating to the old-timers.
“People are nosy and always trying to be so nice down here,” I say to Sally.
“It’s called Southern hospitality,” Sally retorts.
“Well, I think it’s phony,” I respond.
“Of course you would—you’re from New York,” Sally sneers. Okay, touché, Princess.
When we get outside, Melissa and Tina are in shock. Their bikes are gone. They check around the corner and reappear without them.
“¡Ay dios mío! Somebody stole our bikes!” Tina cries.
“I told y’all.” Did I just say “y’all”? “I knew it! Now what are we gonna do?” I am not asking that creepy man in the store to give us a ride home. Us, him, and all this rope—uh-uh, not happening.
A loud whistle comes from across the street. When I look, I see it’s Skateboard Boy from day camp. The cute one. He and his friends are standing in a park with Melissa’s and Tina’s bikes.
“Charlie,” Sally says breathlessly.
“You know this guy?” Melissa is steaming. “He’s got our bikes!”
“And if he doesn’t give ’em back, he’s going to have to answer to my papi,” Tina adds.
“And my brothers,” Melissa says.
Melissa and Tina take off running across the street. Sally and I shrug at each other and follow them.
In seconds we are face to face with Charlie and three of his boys. The bikes are parked under a tree. Melissa is in Charlie’s face.
“Those are our bikes, and we want them back!” Melissa charges.
“Slow your roll, girl.” Charlie backs up.
“That’s right, stop playing,” Tina demands.
“Oh, I thought one of those bikes belonged to her.” Charlie points to me. Suddenly my stomach sinks. “If you want your bikes back, she needs to apologize for bumping into me today at camp.”
“What are you talking about? You got in my way!” I press toward Charlie as Melissa moves out of the way.
“How about it was both of our faults, but you never said you were sorry,” Charlie says as he invades my space. He tilts his chin up and stares down at me. I don’t know why I am thinking this right now, but this boy is sooooo cute! What the heck is that? I suddenly feel like someone is tickling my stomach, and I am very ticklish. Butterflies? I’ve only read stories about boys and butterflies in some teen magazine. I just thought they were making that stuff up. And he’s acting like a jerk right now, in a weird sort of curious way. I have to pull it together quickly. I don’t want my new friends to think I’m a punk, even though he’s the cutest boy I’ve seen in my life.
“You better get out of my face,” I say. He moves in even closer. OMG! Is he going to kiss me? I can’t
