Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Chapter Ten: My Bad Mood

I'd no sooner gotten out of the shower and into my nightclothes than Mom called up the stairs for me to come down and help with the dishes. Grumbling to myself, I descended, barefoot and still dripping a bit, to comply. As soon as I could, I ducked out again and went straight back to my room. Joe followed behind me, and for a moment I thought he was going to come into my room, but he didn't. He went down the hall and picked up the phone on the table beside Mom and Dad's bedroom door. I wondered about that for a moment as I went to my desk, then remembered that the dishwasher was running; it would be hard to carry on a conversation on the kitchen extension.

When I heard him say, "Hey, Hooper! Guess what?" I got up and shut my bedroom door, feeling crosser than ever and hoping Biff's parents would decide not to let us use their cabin.

About forty minutes later, there came a tap on my door. I looked up with a feeling of surprise; I hadn't noticed that it was getting dark out. The shadows in the room had reached the point where I the only light came from my active computer screen. "Come in," I said, switching on the desk light. As I'd expected, Joe stood in the doorway. He hadn’t showered or changed yet, and that made me frown. Either he'd spent a long time talking with Biff, or-

“Biff’s folks are cool with it, and the Mortons said Chet can go.”

My only reply was an irritable grunt.

Joe was quiet a moment, then asked hesitantly, “Are you mad about what I said at dinner?” I was debating how to answer that when he added, “And what did you mean about ‘unflattering descriptions?” He stepped into my room, closing the door, and sat down at the foot of my bed, behind my desk chair.

“Yes, I’m annoyed. And I meant what I said.” I kept my back to him. “Being ‘old for my age’- if I knew how to stop doing whatever it is that makes people describe me like that, I would’ve done it years ago. Would’ve been the butt of a lot fewer jokes and unflattering descriptions. I’m different from lots of people, so I get laughed at and made fun of. And then they expect me to laugh too, and if I don’t they say I have no sense of humor. Just like when they make ‘blond jokes’ at you and then expect you to laugh.”

“Ow,” Joe murmured, and I knew he could relate. It’s taken a long time to break certain people of the ‘blond joke’ habit, and I had to get pretty forceful with some of them before they finally knocked it off. “Yeah, that’s... I wish you’d told me I was hurting your feelings, big brother.”

“Why should I have to tell you?” I asked coolly. “Why couldn’t you use that vivid imagination of yours and figure what it’s like to get laughed at for being who you are? Why not use your powers of observation and note the fact that people laugh at me, not with me?”

There’s nothing in the world that makes me feel so guilty as seeing Joe’s face when I’m guilt-tripping him, which is why I refused to look at him. Nobody'd had to tell me that Joe didn’t like getting treated like a brainless bit of fluff just because his hair’s blond, so I knew he’d be feeling very bad for overlooking my feelings about this. Especially since he’s usually more empathic than I am. He was bound to be feeling that he let me down in a major way, especially after our talk this afternoon- he’d be comparing my support of him to his lack of it with me and wincing at the disparity.

I was being more unkind about the situation than it really merited, and I knew it, but there was a reason for it: I was feeling shoved into a corner. The trip to Vermont was on and the only way out of it was to stay behind. I was sorely tempted to do just that; I could already hear them mocking me for trying to get them to be careful, pay attention, be prepared, not horse around too much, and so on. They did it every single time. But if I did decide to stay home, Mom wouldn’t let Joe go, and Chet probably wouldn’t be allowed, either. And I’d be to blame.

“Frank,” Joe began, jerking my attention back to him. He sounded miserable. “Frank, nobody knows! If they knew, if you ever said ‘don’t talk like that, you make me feel like a- like a freak-’ they would’ve stopped! They’re our friends, they care how we feel. I care how you feel! I feel awful for not seeing it, but I honestly never did, it never seemed to bother you. That’s how you are, you just shrug things off and don’t let them grind at you. Don’t you?”

Oh, kid brother, if you only knew...

“I try to shrug stuff off,” I agreed, softening. “And sometimes it works, but when it’s your friends doing it, it’s really hard to do. People who don’t matter, well, what they say and think doesn’t matter, either. But people who do matter...” I turned around and looked at him; he was regarding my comforter with an uncommonly serious gaze and didn’t meet my eyes. “People who do matter can rip you all apart without even knowing it. And then when you tell ‘em, they feel lousy about it.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, Joe, I guess I didn't handle it very well. I shoulda just asked you not to do it anymore, not gotten all sullen about it.” I didn’t mention the part about doubting that some people would comply- and that others might simply forget, having not taken my request very seriously. He, at least, would take it seriously in the future.

“D’you still want to go on the trip and have to be the sorta in-charge person?” he asked softly, looking up from my bedspread. “’Cause we don’t have to- we can say something else came up.”

I blinked, surprised that he’d asked, even if he was asking a little late. The great majority of my bad mood eased away as I realized what had prompted him to offer: he wanted me to understand how seriously he was taking my feelings. He didn’t want me to do something that would just be a duty and hold no pleasure for me.

I didn’t answer at once, taking my time to decide, and felt a bit of enthusiasm sneaking back in. It would be nice to get away. And it would just be us four; we’d had some very good times together in the past. And maybe... “Oh, we’ll go,” I said at last, and smiled as he brightened. “Just help me be the person in charge, don’t make me do it all by myself. I’ll feel better about it if I’m not the only one reminding them- or you!- of stuff all the time.”

“Deal,” he promised, leaning against my footboard and reaching out. I took his hand and we shook on it.

“I’ll even let you drive some, there and back,” I added after another moment’s thought, and he brightened even more. “Give you some practice on country roads. Though I don’t think you’re quite ready for the Interstate yet.”

“Awww....”

“Well, you’ll have to get that past Mom first, anyway. So when’re we leaving?”

Joe grinned; he’d recovered all his enthusiasm. “Saturday, and staying two weeks- Biff says we’ll need to check in a hotel if we leave in the afternoon, but since it’s short notice, we probably will need to wait till the afternoon-”

And he’s off-!

“Whoa, there! Would you care to untangle that remark? Start from the beginning and remember that I didn’t hear any of this.”

“Oh- um...okay, if we leave late Saturday, we won’t make it up there by nightfall. We’ll need to spend the night in a hotel or something. And since today’s already Thursday, we probably will leave late- like not Saturday morning six a.m. , more like two in the afternoon. ‘Cause of the packing.”

“Ah, got it.”

“So Biff’s looking up good hotels along our route, and he says he’ll give us the map when we leave.”

“Map-?”

“Of our route. So we don’t have to follow him and worry about getting separated,” Joe explained.

“Oh! I thought you meant a map to the hotel or whatever. I wish you’d organize your thoughts before you start talking,” I pretended to scold him. He just smiled at me and shrugged. “So we spend tomorrow and Saturday morning getting ready, Saturday afternoon we leave, Saturday night we stay in a hotel, and Sunday we get there?”

“Right.”

“Okay. And Biff’s picking the route and looking for good hotels, that’s cool. Are there boats up there?”

“I didn’t ask. There’s a lot I didn’t ask,” Joe admitted. “We should all get together tomorrow and talk out what we’re going to need and what we aren’t. No TV, unfortunately.”

“What sort of a deep-woods vacation would it be if you were parked in front of a television?” I inquired innocently, and dodged a swat. “Is there running water? Will we be using a fireplace or stove?”

“He said there’s a propane stove, running water in the sink and shower, but no toilet. An outhouse. No sewers lines around. And he said take bio-whatsit...biodegradable soap for dishes and stuff.”

“Okay, we can pick up some of that tomorrow.”

We went on discussing what we’d need for another hour or so, with Joe making suggestions and me writing them down on a scrap of paper. When we reached a lull, I left the room and went down to the kitchen to search out the remaining brownies.

***