Showdown at the Okie-Dokie by Deborah Gregory

Author:Deborah Gregory [Gregory, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497677227
Publisher: Premier Digital Publishing
Published: 2011-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter

7

Cruising to Big Momma’s house in Mrs. Walker’s coolio Katmobile, I can’t get the Chubby Checker song out of my mind. “‘Let’s twist again, like we did last summer—ooh, ooh!’”

Mrs. Walker joins in, and we bop along. I can tell she had a good time at the race. She was dancing with some guy with a bald head the whole time.

“Ma, I saw you dancing with that good-looking man,” Aqua says, teasing her mother.

“What good-looking man? Reecy Weathers from the pharmacy? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mrs. Walker says, waving her hand at Aqua.

“Well, I don’t think Mr. Chips Carter would like it one bit,” Aqua says, teasing her mother. We all know there’s a little flirting going on between Mr. Chips, of Fish ‘N’ Chips, and Mrs. Walker. And he is a good-looking gobble fester.

“Well, Mr. Chips Carter ain’t paying no mortgage around here, so I guess I can do as I please,” Mrs. Walker says, adjusting her Gucci shades. Then she gets real quiet.

Aqua gets quiet too. See, Mr. Chips Carter and Mr. Fred Fish both live in the Montgomery Homeless Shelter, so paying a mortgage would be, well, out of the question.

“Mrs. Walker, have you ever heard of a song called ‘It’s Raining Men?’” I ask.

“I think I do remember that one. Why?”

“Nothing,” I tell her. “It’s just that that guy, Beetjuice, was kinda insinuating that we were biting someone else’s flavor from back in the day.”

“I’m not exactly sure I follow you,” she says.

“Have you ever heard our song before? It’s Raining Benjamins’?”

“I think so,” she says, not sure. “But so many songs sound alike these days.”

“I wish I could drive this car,” Chuchie says to Mrs. Walker, oblivious to what’s going on.

“Ooh, you’re not going to get me arrested!” Mrs. Walker chuckles. “Come back when you’re sixteen, though, and we’ll spin a few wheels.”

I like the idea of us coming back when we’re sixteen. I hope Mrs. Walker really means it. Suddenly, I get a pang of guilt as I think of my mom sitting at home with my little dog Toto. She’s probably eating a whole tin of Godiva chocolates all by herself. She can’t even pretend that she’s cooking a ten-course meal: Mom only pulls that charade when we have company coming over.

“Is Skeeter gonna be there?” Aqua asks as we pull into their grandmother’s driveway. “He should be here by now. He spent all morning volunteering at the Montgomery Shelter, serving food.”

“Oh, that’s good—that’s real good,” Angie says approvingly. Now that Skeeter has hooked up with Fish ‘N’ Chips, he’s been spending a lot of time at the homeless shelter where they live. Today, the homeless population gets a big fat serving of Thanksgiving dinner—so he went over at the crack of dawn to help.

“Hold this,” Mrs. Walker says to Aqua, handing her a casserole dish. “That’s all Skeeter needs, is to feel like he belongs—just like all of us,” she says, smoothing down her skirt. “I know I’m risking my

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