Battle of the Beasts

“Diamond skull backpack from Japan that he probably spent a thousand dollars on,” Eleanor interrupted.

“Nell!”

Brendan started putting the backpack on. Maybe if his mother saw how great he looked in it, she’d let him keep it. “Mom, look … Bay Academy is a great place … I mean, it’s the best school in San Francisco. Everybody knows that.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she was listening. Cordelia and Eleanor shared a look of annoyance. Brendan went on.

“It’s also a really competitive place. And I don’t mean like in studying. I mean, we’re going to school with high-powered kids. Kids whose parents are bankers and CEOs and baseball players. And my wardrobe, it just … needs a status piece.”

“A status piece,” his mother repeated.

“Have you ever heard me complain about all the clothes you order from L.L.Bean? No. But they’re just normal clothes that every kid wears. I need something that I can wear when I’m walking down the halls and have people go, ‘Wow, who’s that guy?’ Because otherwise, I’m invisible. Or visible in a bad way. Like a stain.”

“Mom!” Cordelia said. “You’re not buying this, are you? He’s giving you a sob story for a thousand-dollar backpack!”

“Will you stop with the thousand dollars? It didn’t cost that much,” Brendan said.

“Well, how much did it cost?” his mother asked.

“Seven hundred.”

His mother’s forehead turned into upside-down arrows of wrinkles. “You spent seven hundred dollars on a backpack?”

“Including shipping.”

“How did you pay for it?”

“Your credit card.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s all good,” Brendan said. “I wrote you a cheque to pay you back.”

Brendan pulled the cheque out of his pocket. It was one of Mrs Walker’s, made out for the exact cost of the backpack, but Brendan had crossed out Mrs Walker’s name on the upper left-hand corner and replaced it with his.

“You wrote a cheque to me from my account,” said Mrs Walker. Her face was crimson now.

“Yeah. I mean … I figured some of your money is technically my money, too,” said Brendan. “I know you and Dad put away money for us to go to college. So I figured I’d use my college money to buy the backpack.”

“You have no idea how much money we put away for college!” Mrs Walker snapped. “You’re sending that bag back immediately!”

“But it’ll help me become popular, and by becoming popular, I’ll be invited to more extracurriculars, and by doing more extracurriculars, I’ll get into a better college. Think of it as an investment!”

“You know what would help you get into a better college? Getting rid of the S’s from your report card,” Mrs Walker countered. (Bay Academy Prep didn’t do letter grades; it had E for excellent, S for satisfactory, N for needs improvement, and U for unsatisfactory – or as the students called it, uh-oh.)

“I’ll get all E’s this semester,” Brendan said. “I’ll be like Cordelia. I promise.”

“Don’t believe him,” Cordelia said. “The last thing he wants is to be like me.”

Brendan looked at her. That’s not true, he thought. Deal’s still the smartest person I know. She’s just been acting a little weird lately.

“I’m very angry with you, Brendan,” said Mrs Walker.

“How are you gonna punish him?” asked Eleanor.

“Shush, Nell,” said Brendan.

“Make him do chores!” said Cordelia.

“Chores?” said Brendan. “What are our three cleaning ladies gonna do then? Do you really want to put people out of work in this economy? Just to punish me?”

“No,” said Mrs Walker, “what you’re going to do is make this backpack count as your birthday present.”

“That’s not fair,” said Brendan. “My birthday isn’t for six months.”

“Or,” said Mrs Walker, “you can get a job at In-N-Out Burger.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Brendan. “One kid at Bay Academy sees me making animal fries, my entire life is over!”

“Your decision,” said Mrs Walker. “And if you ever use my credit card again, I will take that backpack right down to Glide Memorial and give it to the first homeless person I see. Don’t think I won’t.”

Brendan shrugged and sighed; he knew this fight was over – and he’d got to keep the backpack. It just meant he couldn’t get a moped for his birthday like he was planning. “Yeah, fine, okay, Mom,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”

“I can’t believe you’re letting him off so easy,” Cordelia said.

“Look, I took you and Eleanor on a shopping spree when we got the settlement.”

“Yeah, but … but …”

“But you’re girls?” Brendan said. “Sorry, equal rights.”

“Brendan! Stop antagonising your sister and get ready for school!”

A few minutes later the Walkers rushed out to Sea Cliff Avenue with bags full of homework and books to meet the black Lincoln town car waiting for them. The driver, Angel, a portly, cheerful fifty-seven-year-old, was always early. He turned down the music of the great accordion player Flaco Jiménez as the kids came towards the car.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen Walkers!” he said. He always said that. “We ready for school? Mr Brendan! Looking sharp! What is that? A Mastermind diamond backpack? Aren’t there only a hundred of those out there?”

“Fifty.”

“Fifty?!” shouted Angel. “The girls are gonna be swarmin’ all over you, dude!”

Brendan raised an I told you so eyebrow to his sisters as they piled into the car, where magazines were laid out next to that morning’s San Francisco Chronicle and fresh bottles of water. Brendan and Eleanor cracked two bottles; Cordelia ignored them, listening to her music, and turned up the heat in the back seat.

“What are you doing?” Eleanor asked. “It’s gonna be like eighty today!”

Cordelia pulled her earbuds out. “I’m freezing,” she said.

“It’s not cold!”