Hey-for those of you who noticed that Janet supposedly has a nephew and know that it doesn't make sense, you're right-my bad. lol Please ignore that. I may change it sometime when I've got time. Remember in "Butterfly and the Bog Beast" where Arnold says, "You're my only cousin, Janet." So there IS no way she could have a nephew ... and please review if you like a chapter! :)

Cha. 10 Don't Do This

Her cellular rang. With a sigh, D.A. picked it up and flipped it open to see who was calling. When she saw the name, she groaned and sat up, flicking the blond bangs away from her eyes. "Yes, Ralphie?"

"D.A!" He sounded relieved to hear her voice. "I tried calling Pheobe, Carlos, and Arnold, and their lines were all busy. I really need to talk to you. Got time?"

She cleared her throat and tried to get a more pleasant ring in her strained voice. "I guess I might-what's on your mind?"

"Well, it's like this." Ralphie paused, and sounded a bit nervous as he continued. "I got into a mess with Keesha. You know all about that, and how I didn't do it."

"I'm listening." D.A. blew on her fingernails, freshly polished. She was willing to believe anything now-she didn't have much spirit to stand firm in believing he had done it. Keesha was so sure he had-he was so sure he hadn't. But knowing both of them ... well, in the end, she thought she might believe Ralphie over Keesha. There was just something in his pleading face as he tried to convince you, along with an honest sparkle in his eyes that won over Keesha's stormy, determined attitude and cloudy face. He had tried telling her before, and she had acted doubtful then. But she was ready to believe him.

"Well, now Keesh thinks I did it again, or something. I don't quite get her ... but apparently I must've stolen something from her again. I don't know how-I thought all her baseball cards were gone already. Honestly, D.A, isn't she being a bit unreasonable? I tried talking to her after school today, and she wouldn't let me. All she did was say stupid things of no meaning and acted like I was too late to convince her I didn't steal her baseball cards. You believe me ... don't you, D.A? If you don't, I'll let you strip my house. I'd let her-but she's too cold to listen." There was another pause. "You believe me, don't you?" he repeated hopefully.

D.A. smiled at his long speech and faltering finish. He sounded worried, but not at all guilty. She pressed the phone to her ear. "Of course, Ralphie."

"Great!" he said, fresh relief in his voice. "At least there's one fair person around here. I don't know what's gotten into everyone else."

"Everyone else?"

"Well ... there are those that believe Keesh, and others ... well, others are hard to find these days. Our gang's kinda split apart ... isn't it, D.A?"

D.A. rolled her eyes. "You noticed! Feels like I was the only one noticing here-besides Ms. Frizzle. Poor Ms. Frizzle can't help if nobody decides to make things right."

"Yeah ... " Ralphie sighed.

D.A. sensed there was more he wanted to say. So she asked him, "Why did you call?"

"Oh, I was just wondering if you happened to notice anything after school today-something suspicious. You know, something that might prove Keesha was wrong and that there's someone else stealing her stuff. I can't be the only baseball freak, can I?"

"And there's a lot of kids in school that would pull off something like that," Dorothy Ann agreed, crossing her feet comfortably as she lay down on her back on the bed. Suddenly, she remembered something. It hit her mind so hard that she lifted her head, startled. "Uh ... Ralphie?"

"Yeah?"

"Sometime around lunch period, I noticed something going on by Keesha's locker."

"Yeah?" Ralphie sounded eager. "What did you see?"

D.A. closed her eyes and ran a hand through her messy blond hair. "I saw two kids near her locker but at the line of lockers right across from it, and they were looking at something. Then one of them went toward her locker-I know now it was her locker! He shut it and they ran away!"

"He?" Ralphie persisted.

"A guy and a girl. I think I recognized the girl," D.A. said, a cold note in her voice suddenly, "but I didn't recognize the guy."

"Who was the girl, D.A? Shit ... I should have called you earlier, D.A. I've been so worried." Ralphie laughed.

She was sitting up now, too, and a light gleamed in her eyes-a light of wrath and determination. "Ralphie, Janet has most certainly tried to mess up your life by pretending you did it!"

"Janet." Ralphie spat the word. He didn't sound surprised.

"Yeah, apparently she saw you at Keesha's locker and thought it would be a good chance to steal those cards ... if she did," D.A, added quickly. "I wouldn't be surprised. But what would she want with stupid baseball cards?"

"They're not stupid," Ralphie began defensively, "and her point was probably just to ruin my friendship with Keesha."

"Friendship, huh?" D.A. laughed, mostly to herself. "Sometimes I forget you're friends!"

"Whatever you call it. I guess we're playmates," Ralphie replied unconcernedly. "Or argue-mates."

"Or future-mates!" D.A. teased, surprised at how she was enjoying this conversation. She usually wasn't the girl to tease someone. "Just kidding, Ralphie."

"You'd better be," Ralphie declared. "I couldn't imagine a life with her-I think it would drive me nuts."

"But you don't fight as much as Carlos and I do," D.A. insisted suddenly. "We're at it all the time."

"No, you're not," Ralphie said in an unexpectedly-firm tone.

"We're ... not?" D.A. sighed. "You're right, actually. We've been discussing more serious stuff lately that you don't just banter over."

"Ooohhh," Ralphie mocked in a low tone of voice.

"No ... no, it's not what you think," D.A. protested quickly, angry at the heat that she felt in her face. "Shut up, Ralphie. You know we're just buddies, and that's all we've ever been or will be." She loved the confidence in her voice. "By the way, maybe you should talk to him. He's very ... upset about his parents."

"How would I help him?" Ralphie chuckled. "I'm always upset with my parents, too. Maybe I could just let him know 'someone feels just like you do, so shut up, play soccer and have fun'?"

"No-I take back my suggestion!" D.A. said quickly. "Okay, gotta go. 'Bye!"

After snapping her cellular shut, D.A. jumped off her bed, heart pounding. For some reason, she had pulled Carlos into the conversation and now ... oh, if he wouldn't do anything stupid! She felt so responsible for some reason ... and a sudden fear and determination made her race down the stairs after pulling her blond hair together into a short ponytail, leaving out the bangs. She should have taken action sooner ... would he still be there, if he really did mean to run away? Oh, she was sure he was up to something crazy like that! She mentally slapped herself for drooping around so long and outwardly slapped a note with a magnet against the fridge that said:

Mom,

I'm going 2 the Ramone's. Planning 2 be back

this evening. Luv u! D.A.

When she reached the front door of the Ramone household, she rang the doorbell. Mrs. Ramone came to the door almost instantly, and she looked a little stressed. But she put on a smile. D.A. felt, with a sinking heart, that Carlos hadn't talked to his parents yet.

"Oh, hi, D.A. Come in." She didn't sound as cheerful as always, but neither did she sound distressed. She opened the door wider and twisted a thick black bang behind her ear. "Carlos is upstairs."

"Thanks." D.A. flashed her a smile and hurried up the staircase. Now that she knew he hadn't left yet-she felt so relieved.

But her relief turned to a foolish, silly feeling when she entered his bedroom without knocking and saw him sprawled over the bed, with no suitcase or ticket in sight. She felt embarrassed of herself-maybe she had been over-reacting after all. Maybe he hadn't meant what he said, or maybe he meant something different. At any rate, she had rushed up here, rudely barged into his bedroom-all for nothing. Uncomfortably, she fidgeted while Carlos got up and dusted his jeans, looking a bit surprised.

"Hey, Carlos!" she burst out, feeling her face heat up in embarrassment. "Can I, uh ... come in?"

Carlos narrowed his eyes at her. "You are in, D.A."

"Oh ... right." D.A. nervously ran a hand down her side and then folded her arms. "I just ... "

"You what?" Carlos asked, giving her his full attention now. He pointed to a chair apposite his bed and motioned for her to sit down. "Sit down, Blondie."

D.A. helplessly walked over to the chair, fighting to find the right words as she brushed the soccer ball off the chair and sat down. It rolled to Carlos' feet. "It's stupid, actually," she said with a nervous laugh. "I just thought ... I don't know, like you might have ... uh, run away or something."

It hurt Dorothy Ann's pride to speak like that to him-of all people. It also didn't sound like the words were coming from her mouth, or the voice was her voice. How she had changed during the last few days! Where was the confident, sensible D.A. who went by the book and never needed to be embarrassed of anything? Where was the girl that enjoyed seeing Carlos in the wrong and being smart? She had disappeared. D.A. felt bewildered and lost ... frantically, she tried to get a grip of herself.

But she couldn't. She had to say something. Deep down inside, she knew she actually cared about her friend, as much as she always acted like she didn't. If he would go off and hurt himself-she would be so mad. D.A. knew running away wasn't the answer, and she must drop the hint now. And to her surprise, she did.

Carlos looked stunned. "You actually thought I would do that?" he blurted. The soccer ball was resting between his feet.

All at once, D.A. felt another flame of utter shame-so now shewas finally wrong-and it fiercely humiliated her! But before she could jump up from her seat and retort a sharp insult, Carlos kicked the soccer ball toward her, got up, and ran to his closet, pushing it open. Out came a fully-packed suitcase, and a plane ticket!

D.A. gasped.

"I don't know how you guessed it, but you're right," he declared, striding swiftly across the room to lock his bedroom door. "I was thinking of crawling out that window the minute you came in, because I was so tired of waiting for the black stuff in the sky!"

"It's called night," D.A. stated. "And you were kinda obvious on the bus, Carlos. Do you take me for stupid?"

"No ... I mean," Carlos mumbled, setting the suitcase against the wall, "I knew you would understand. It's something I've gotta do. This is driving me crazy, and I wanna get back to enjoying life. I can't do that-until I've seen my real parents."

D.A. felt her heart sink. She stared into her friend's serious brown eyes, which were usually so full of mischief or sparkling over something humorous. "I understand that you want to," she said softly, "but I don't understand why you have to."

A sudden defensive look appeared on his boyish face. He stayed on his feet. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Carlos, you need to talk to your so-called parents!" she pleaded, adding the "so-called" so he wouldn't stop to correct her again. But it made her mad to use the term. Mr. And Mrs. Ramone might deserve it, but in a way, she felt that they did not. It had to all be a misunderstanding! "First of all, if you don't talk to them, how will you know where to look for your real parents? You could get lost, get short on money, and have to work your way back home.

"Second, if you leave without explaining your reason to them, won't it hurt them worse than if you leave them cruelly without a good-bye? And be honest, Carlos, you don't want them to hurt even if you do-you've known them for much too long and somewhere deep down, you don't hate them because you know they really love you.

"And third-I think you're old enough to tell your decision to your parents and get permission to go, instead of sneaking away in the night. You're not a little naughty kid, Carlos-you're an intelligent teenager with rights that the law would give you to choose between your real parents, and ... and Mr. and Mrs. Ramone. You're not tied down here without anyone to respect your wishes, Carlos. Do you understand me?"

He had been listening all this while, with close observation to everything she said. Then, instead of tossing in a sarcastic comment or smart remark, he stayed silent. He looked at the ticket in his hand, then finally sank down on the edge of his bed. He looked very torn between two decisions, and actually frustrated. He was more frustrated now than he had been that time years ago when old Mr. Rhule had made them do an endless list of duties at Walkerville Elementary. Lucky for him, he had a smart brother named Mikey who helped them program a computer to do the chores for them. But his smart "step-brother" Mikey couldn't help him out on this one-he was forced to consider D.A.'s plea. It made more sense than he wanted to admit.

"It's not fair," he said at least, heatedly. "It serves them right. I feel like leaving them just to crush them. You're wrong, D.A. I don't think I like them-and I highly doubt they ever loved me. Probably just took me in because they felt they had to!"

There was anger and determination etched into Carlos' voice, but he didn't look up to meet her eyes. He folded his arms and stared coldly at is soccerball. D.A. felt the impulse to sit down next to him and gently talk sense into him, carefully showing him there was a better way. There would be no good in yelling or commanding him as she used to do. Actually ... it had never worked. His self-esteem matched hers evenly.

"Carlos, I really think you're only telling yourself this!" It was the best she could do. "It's not really true, soccer-freak, you know it's not!"

Carlos stared at her, and slowly a grin came out of the corner of his mouth. "Did you just call me a soccer-freak?"

D.A. blushed. She lifted her chin and looked at him in superiority. "I believe it describes you perfectly, so I see no harm in calling you one."

"That was kind of cute ... Blondie." Carlos laughed a bit, then sighed. He shook his head. "I guess if I think of it, it always did feel like I was their kid, all loved over and kinda spoiled. But D.A. if they really loved me, why didn't they tell me about their parents? Could they really be as stupid as to not tell me?"

"Maybe they would have if you had asked them about it," D.A. suggested timidly.

Carlos rolled his eyes. "It never crossed my mind to do that!"

"Listen ... soccer-freak." D.A smiled a bit. She crossed the floor and put a hand on his shoulder, making him look straight up into the bewitching blue eyes in her face. "You need to listen to me, okay? Please talk to them. For my sake, if for nothing else. Okay?" She looked at his boyish dark hair and in a sarcastic but friendly way she patted it down to his eyes. "Trust me, you won't regret it. Even if there's a commotion."

Carlos smiled and ducked away from her taunting hand. "You've become kinda ... different. But maybe you're right, D.A."

At that moment, D.A. suddenly turned back into her old haughty self and stepped backward. "I'm right?" she exclaimed. "Carlos Ramone actually admitted to my face that I was right? Well, there's some hope for you, I suppose!" With that she strode away and seated herself comfortably in his chair again.

Carlos's eyes sparkled for some reason and he got to his feet. "But you're coming with me."

D.A.'s eyes flew open. She sat up straight. "I am so not!" she retorted. "If this is one of your jokes, Carlos, then it's lame as usual."