The Girl Who Stole A Planet (Amy Armstrong Book 1) Page 3

  Amy gasped. “What are you doing with all these?”

  “Protecting myself. It’s a thing, you know, since I’m my own favorite person in the whole world.”

  “Is that a gun? You’re only sixteen! You can’t have a gun. Where do you think you are––the East side of Salinas?”

  Tony smirked. “You’re only fourteen. What do you know about Salinas?”

  Amy shook her head. “A gun, Tony?”

  The teenage boy held up the snub-nosed revolver. “It’s only a .38. You can barely kill someone with this. You’d probably hurt them a lot worse if you chucked it at them instead of pulling the trigger.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “Well, if you don’t want to use a gun––which is loaded with blanks by the way––then I have other problem-solvers.” He set the gun on the tire and held up a succession of weapons, starting with a switchblade, an expandable baton, brass knuckles, a strange-looking wooden bat, a huge cherry bomb, and finally a can of aerosol deodorant.

  “That’s nice,” said Amy. “At least I won’t have B.O. while I’m beaten to a pulp.”

  Tony pulled a disposable lighter from his pocket and pointed the deodorant can away from the car. He flicked the lighter, pressed down on the deodorant toggle, and a gout of flame burst from the nozzle.

  Amy jumped back from the sudden flash of heat. “Good gravy!”

  “Exactly,” said Tony. “Only old-school aerosol stuff can do that. I’ve got a supplier.”

  “Thanks for the kind thoughts, but I just want to keep all my teeth. I don’t want to see my name in the papers or cause an international incident. Taking a weapon to school could make all my problems worse.”

  “It’s just deodorant,” said Tony, and sprayed under his arms. “Not very good deodorant, but deodorant.”

  “Sorry.”

  Tony shook his head. “Brave girl. I admire your principles. Stop! Don’t even think about making that joke.” Tony rummaged through the hidden area and held up a pair of black leather gloves. “This is more your style. Silent and deadly.”

  “Gloves? What are those good for?”

  “Quite a bit,” said Tony, and tossed them to Amy.

  She caught the gloves at her chest, but the unexpected heaviness almost caused her to drop them to the asphalt.

  “Whoa! These weigh a ton!”

  “Gloves for cops,” said Tony. “That’s a girl cop size. Designed to put the beat down on degenerates like you and me. Lined with lead on the back and knuckles to make your punches hit hard, and Kevlar mesh on the palms to stop knives. Got them in a trade. The good thing is, they’re not illegal and won’t get you in trouble.”

  Amy slid the gloves over her hands. The black leather felt good and weighty on her fingers, like she could hit a concrete wall and just walk away.

  “We shouldn’t be talking about all this nasty stuff,” she said. “Let’s go see Lucia.”

  Tony laughed and closed the car door.

  “Oh, Amy. Just like a girl––always practical.”

  He put an arm around her and they walked through the blowing mist toward the hospital.

  Amy spent a few minutes with Lucia, who had been taken off the strongest drugs and was talking just like her old self, then rode down the hill with Tony to school. Amy signed in at the office and then went to second period English.

  She knew M.K. would be looking for her between class periods, so when the bell rang she sprinted upstairs to the library, hid out there until the bell rang, and then snuck down the hall to science class. Mr. Gomez was peeved at her tardiness, but she could handle peeved.

  Helen tossed a folded note at her when Gomez had his back turned.

  I’VE GOT AN IDEA, said the scribbled pencil on the creased paper.

  When the bell rang to end class, Amy stayed in the room and huddled together with Helen.

  “Did you fix things with M.K.?”

  Amy brushed back a strand of blonde hair. “Not yet. I’ve been avoiding that elephant.”

  “Her seventh grade spies are everywhere, so don’t expect it to last. You should probably do something.”

  Amy pulled the leather gloves from the waistband of her uniform skirt.

  “Tony gave me these,” she said. “They’re cop gloves. Maybe I can ambush her, give the cow a black eye or two.”

  “Have you been watching too much television? She’ll crush you like a dinner roll. Her body is so massive and the nerves so spread out, it’s like throwing rocks at an aircraft carrier. Even if you do hit her first, she won’t feel a thing until you’re on the floor of the girl’s bathroom, probably missing a few teeth.”

  “Thanks for that mental image,” said Amy. “You’re such a great friend.”

  “And the smartest one you have. But enough about me––I’ve got an idea to keep you from losing your pearly whites or any other body parts.”

  “Great. I’m very attached to them.”

  The room began to fill with students for the next class. Amy grabbed Helen’s sleeve and pulled her toward the door.

  “Come on.”

  “What about my idea?”

  “Let’s stand in front of the office and you can tell me. M.K. won’t kill me in front of the office. I hope.”

  The two girls pushed through the rowdy hallway filled with banging lockers and hooting middle-schoolers.

  “Okay,” said Helen. “M.K. likes video games, right?”

  “Doesn’t everybody? I already told you I don’t have any good ones to trade.”

  “So you need to re-stock,” said Helen. “In homeroom, Calcetti and his buddies were talking about this rich kid they knew, some friend of Calcetti’s cousin. They were over at his house last night, and the rich kid has a Super Nintendo.”

  “I can get one of those at Circuit City. Besides, M.K. already has one.”

  They stopped in front of the glass windows of the office. Helen glanced left and right, then leaned close.

  “This kid has a gold one,” she whispered.

  “Why are you whispering? I’ve got a pink one with flowers on it. You helped me paint it, remember?”

  “No, it’s really gold, the metal and everything. Calcetti said he felt how heavy it was. This rich kid’s dad works for Nintendo or something, and it’s like the only gold one ever made. The rich kid even showed Calcetti a photo of him holding up the thing with a bunch of Japanese guys in suits.”

  “Where’s the rich kid live?”

  “Down in the Highlands, right on the ocean,” said Helen. “The big house in the curve, where they’re doing all the construction.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Helen nodded. “That’s what Calcetti said.”

  Amy frowned, and pulled a Chapstick from the pocket of her uniform blazer. She rubbed it along her lips and glanced up and down the hallway. Back and forth, left and right.

  “All right,” she said. “A gold Super Nintendo should keep M.K. off my back. But I have to look at the place first.”

  “Yeah, of course. You wanna do it after school? I can go with you.”

  Amy shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She ducked into a nearby girl’s bathroom and did jumping jacks until she was flushed and her uniform blouse soaked with sweat, and then told the school nurse she had stomach cramps. The nurse made her lie down in the medical room for half an hour and sent her back to class. Amy went straight to the girl’s bathroom, did jumping jacks, and reported to the office with a fever. After a few rounds of this, the nurse gave in and drove Amy up the hill to the hospital herself.

  Amy had succeeded in keeping her cute and straight nose perfectly cute and perfectly straight, exactly the way she liked it, and her blue eyes from turning black and blue by Mary Katherine’s sledgehammer fists. Tomorrow was another day, though, and she needed the most precious of all treasures to placate the most enraged of all eighth graders. It wasn’t like she could just heave any old thing at M.K. and expect her to be happy, eve
n if it was valuable. M.K. had only two hobbies: playing video games and punching middle-schoolers in the face. Amy wanted no part of the latter.

  After the doctor had pronounced her a perfectly fine fourteen-year-old, Amy escaped from the emergency room and Nurse Nelson’s watchful eye by pleading to stay with her foster mother for the rest of the day. Nurse Nelson was not a kind woman, but luckily happened to be the kind of nurse who hates sick people and hanging about hospitals. The reason she worked at the school was because she very rarely saw any sick people at all, only schoolchildren who made up stories about stomach cramps or a fever. She saw no reason to argue, and in fact left the hospital at a rapid jog due to the dizzying effect of the smell of alcohol disinfectant.

  Lucia was sitting up when Amy came to her room.

  “There you are, Amy. Is school out already?”

  Amy shrugged. “The nurse gave me a note.”

  Lucia’s hug was longer and tighter than normal. When Amy pulled away, Lucia’s eyes were wet.

  “Stay with me today,” she said. “When you left this morning, I felt like I’d never see you again.”

  Tony stood up from beside the bed. “Don’t be silly, Lucia! The doctor said you’re getting better and better.”

  “Right,” said Amy.

  Lucia shook her head. “It’s not about me, Amy. It’s about you.”

  Amy smiled and hugged her foster mother again. “Don’t worry. I’m fourteen and I can take care of myself.”

  Lucia sighed and leaned back in her bed. A pine branch scraped across the window, and everyone stared out at the trees in the mist.

  “I know you’re fourteen,” said Lucia, still looking outside. “But there’s a black cloud coming, darling. A cloud I can’t see through.”

  Tony chuckled. “Don’t be so dramatic. Everything’s fine.”

  Lucia turned her head away from the window. “Son, could you get me a cup of water?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Once Tony left the room, Lucia’s expression changed. Her eyes turned sharp as she stared at Amy and the muscles in her jaw clenched. There was no fear, only a grim determination.

  “Amy, I want to tell you something very important.”

  “What’s going on, Lucia?”

  “Life is going on, Amy; life, and old age. I want you to promise to forget about me.”

  “Don’t talk like that! You’re my mom!”

  Lucia shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. Amy, the world is full of regular people like me, and brilliant, white-burning stars like you. A smart and pretty girl like you is going to have a massive opportunity land in her lap sooner than you think. No, just let me talk. It might be tomorrow or it might be two years from now, but when that thing happens, don’t look back. Don’t let me slow down your dreams.”

  “Lucia, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s okay if you don’t understand it. Just don’t forget it.”

  Amy had lunch in the hospital cafeteria, and rode home with Tony when he showed up after school. She tried to push Lucia’s strange comments out of her mind, and guessed it was just the stress of the heart attack and being in a hospital.

  “Can you drive me down the coast before dinner?”

  Tony slowed the car to a stop at a red light and glanced at her. “What for?”

  “It’s a birthday party,” said Amy. “For one of my friends.”

  Tony laughed. “Girl, you don’t know anybody down the coast. You’re going to steal something.”

  Amy batted her eyes. “How could I do a thing like that? I’m only fourteen. I don’t know peas from carrots.”

  “I ain’t heard lies that big since the last time I fished off the wharf,” said Tony. “Well, okay. Just watch yourself and don’t do anything stupid.”

  Amy squealed. She leaned over from the passenger seat and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re the greatest!”

  Tony sighed. “The whoppers just keep on coming …”

  Back home, Amy dashed to her room and emptied out her drawers searching for a good outfit. She tossed blouses, skirts, dresses, sweaters, slacks, and socks over her shoulder like a deranged pack rat.

  “Too young, too young, too old, too boring, too trampy, too itchy, too yesterday, too high school …”

  She finally settled on a short skirt of dark brown corduroy, a tan, button-up blouse, white knee socks, and a brown beret. Into a knapsack went a brown sash covered with merit badges, a bottle of water, a sandwich, a gray blanket, a penlight with red cellophane taped over the end, and a pair of binoculars.

  Amy walked a couple of blocks to the grocery on Lighthouse and bought a box of Nerds. She poured the colored rocks into her mouth and dialed Robbie Calcetti’s number on the pay phone outside. His mother answered.

  “Hello?”

  Amy turned the charm level in her voice up to eleven.

  “Hello, Mrs. Calcetti. Could I speak to Robbie, please? It’s about homework.”

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Amy Armstrong.”

  “One moment. Robert!”

  After a long pause, three heavy thumps vibrated in the receiver against Amy’s ear.

  “Yeah, whaddya want?”

  “Robert, it’s a girl. Be polite!” came the muffled voice of Mrs. Calcetti.

  “Sorry,” he said. The phone rustled and the teenager’s voice came through clearly. “Whaddya want … please?”

  “Robbie, this is Amy. I heard you went to a party last night.”

  “So?”

  “A dear, close friend of mine wanted the name of the birthday boy.”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Because I’ll give you a bunch of comics. I’ve got a whole stash from my brother.”

  “Even Namor the Submariner?”

  “The whole series,” said Amy.

  Robert sniffed. “If you’re stupid enough to give away comics, I’ll take ‘em. The kid’s name is Frankie Yamagashi. He lives in the Highlands, across the road from that hotel in the curve, whatever it’s called.”

  “I know. Thanks, Robbie.”

  “Wait! What about the comics?”

  “Keep your pants on. I’ll bring ‘em tomorrow.”

  Amy hung up the phone and walked home.

  South of Carmel the mountains come straight to the sea.

  This is not a beachfront paradise. This is not a place where Nature whispers that she loves you. This is a place of gray rocks older than mankind, rock soaked black in the surf and made razor-sharp by the wind. This is a place where experienced swimmers drown in riptides, divers tangle in the thick seaweed, and stones cut your feet to shreds on the way to the beach. This is a place to lose your way in the midnight fog and stumble off a cliff. This is the dark, wintery soul of a state that has no winter. Even on the best days full of sunshine when the water is sapphire and you can see twenty miles down the coast to the lighthouse, the mountains and rocks and sea are still there, waiting for the fog to come back and your mistake to happen. Sharp and tough-barked pines cling to the mountains next to the sea, and between these trees are houses.

  Amy didn’t care about all that crap; she just wanted a Super Nintendo made of pure gold.

  Tony had dropped her off a half mile north of the place on Highway 1, and she walked the rest of the way. He’d said he’d pick her up at ten.

  A dozen pickups and white vans were parked along the side of the road near the house. Through the fence Amy saw a two-story mansion of gray stone and huge windows facing the ocean. A platoon of workers hammered on a skeleton of fresh wood next to the house––someone had obviously decided that the obscene amount of square footage in the place wasn’t obscene enough. Amy squinted through the pines and guessed there were two dozen rooms inside. She had no problem stealing from fat cats, but more rooms meant security systems, or guards.

  Amy crossed Highway 1 and climbed the rocky, pine-covered slope of the opposite side. She found a comfortable little niche on the shadow
y side of a boulder, pulled out her blanket and binoculars, and settled in for a long wait.

  Around four-thirty the construction crew left all at once with a burst of tired but jovial Spanish and joined the other cars speeding up the highway toward Monterey. The wrought iron gate across the driveway clanked and opened with a steady, motorized hum, and a black Mercedes drove out, an Asian woman behind the wheel and a teenage boy in the back seat.

  Time crept by slowly, but Amy was good at waiting. Patience and a cute nose were the best qualities of any girl, Tony always said. Knowing the girls he’d dated, Amy didn’t believe a word.

  A large orange tabby stopped at the white-painted fog line at the edge of the road. He looked left and right, and then slunk across the road toward the house with his tail low to the ground. The sun dipped behind the clouds in the west and changed the sky to brilliant orange and red. Lights came on in the other houses but Frankie’s stayed dark.

  A white pickup with the gold badge of the Monterey County Sheriff’s Office slowly drove by.

  Amy hurriedly kicked off the blanket and pulled her beret lower on her head. She arranged the sash covered with patches over her shoulder and pointed the binoculars at the cedar and pine trees across the road.

  Gravel crunched as the white pickup pulled into the tiny parking area in front of the house. A tanned deputy in forest-green pants and a tan shirt got out and walked across the road, the leather of his gun belt squeaking with each step.

  “Hey there, little girl,” he said.

  Amy smiled. “Hello, officer!”

  “Are you okay up there? Do you need any help?”

  “Actually I do. Have you seen any condors around here? I need one more bird for my merit badge.”

  The deputy laughed. “A condor? You have to go fifty miles down the coast to see one of those. How about I give you a ride home? It’s getting dark.”

  Amy cringed inside, but kept up her smile. The cop was going to put her in a bind.

  “I don’t need a ride, officer! I can walk.”

  The deputy glanced across the highway at the half-dozen cliffside houses.