Now both my eyebrows arch. The woman is a realist. I’m impressed. “What kind of gun?”
“It’s purple,” Bree says, as if that’s an answer.
She just lost some credit but, like she said, nobody’s perfect.
Grams fills the silence. “She needs help.”
“Obviously.”
Bree’s eyes narrow, but in a cute way.
Grams motions to me like Vanna White displaying a prize onWheel of Fortune. “I told her we have a shooting range on our property, and you can teach her all she needs to know.”
Ahh … There it is. I take a deep breath, considering. There’s no reason I shouldn’t teach her. Everyone with a handgun needs to learn to shoot. Otherwise their weapon can be used against them.
Bree lifts her chin, awaiting my reaction. This is why she looked at me apologetically earlier. She knew my grandma had volunteered me to train her without my knowledge. But no apology needed. This is what I do. This is what I’ve been doing with my safety academy class.
We don’t teach the class how to fire weapons, so I’ll never teach Gemma how to shoot. Though, for some reason, I picture my arms around her, placing her hands where they go on a rifle and helping her aim. I growl internally at the unbidden image and refocus. If I don’t stop letting myself be distracted, I could lose a lot more than a bingo game.
“Sure, I can teach you.”Bree. I’m teaching Bree.
There are three types of people in this world. Sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. If Bree works with juvies, she’s a sheepdog like I am.
Whereas Gemma is most definitely a sheep. Or is she Little Bo Peep, and she doesn’t even have any sheep because she’s lost them while daydreaming? In that sense, she’s more dangerous than a wolf.
I give Bree my phone number, which she enters in her contacts list, then take my seat next to Grams again for the blackout round. Every single square on my bingo card has to be dabbed in order to win. I start by dabbing my free space, which is allowed this time.
Grams leans over. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“What?” I look at my bingo card, wondering what I did wrong now.
“Making a date with Bree.”
Oh … “Is it a date?” I know Grams believes it is, but I don’t want her to get her hopes up. “I thought I was agreeing to teach her to shoot.”
I expect Grams to admonish me. Instead, her wise old eyes turn sly. “It doesn’t have to be a date. I wouldn’t want Bree’s shooting lesson to interfere in your relationship with the girl in your class Phillip told me about.”
My nephew ratted me out after all. I’d been thinking I was going to get away clean. Time to throw out evidence in the way defense attorneys so love to do—especially when the defendant is guilty.
“Nah. No relationship there.” I smile smugly at Grams and anticipate her coming overreaction as I say, “I threatened to tase the girl in my class when she asked to kiss me.”
CHAPTER NINE
GEMMA
Who knew such a normal beginning would give the world such a hero?
—“MYHERO,”WRITTENABOUTBEVERLYCLEARY
I’ve been rejected before, but never when I was this confident in succeeding. I thought I finally had my foot in the door with a movie producer. I thought I’d finally found a winning concept. I thought this was going to be my big break.
Why do I allow myself to have expectations? Why do I allow myself hope?
“Why, Ramona?” I ask the bronze sculpture of Beverly Cleary’s most famous character.
Ramona doesn’t respond. She forever romps in the water being squirted from the park splash pad alongside statues of Henry Huggins and Henry’s dog, Ribsy. I used to romp with them as a child. Now I’m here for the understanding and inspiration she’s always offered.
Jewel and I had actually been close when growing up, but because of my unidentified food allergies, I hadn’t been able to keep up with her. Her friends called me a pest, so when I found the bookRamona the Pestin the elementary school library, I felt as though it was written just for me. It kept me company whenever Jewel’s friends tried to leave me out. And I can still relate to how trouble always followed her.
