“Are you excited for our next tutoring session?” he asks sarcastically.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, just as sarcastically. “I can’t wait to bribe children to do their homework.”
He laughs. “Did you see the look on Mr. Jacobi’s face when he realized that each of the kids had four tutors?”
“Oh my God,” I say, laughing. “He was about to lose it.”
“I’ve seen him once like that before,” Brandon says. “When he was trying to photocopy our math tests in the office and the copier wouldn’t work. He said a swear word and everything.”
“No way!”
“Yup.”
Brandon and I laugh, and it’s like bonding over Mr. Jacobi totally breaks the ice. A few minutes later Ellie and Kyle join us with their pizza, and we all eat together, then spend the rest of the evening wandering around the mall, trying on sunglasses, taking funny pictures of each other on our cell phones, and annoying innocent shop assistants.
It’s almost like nothing has changed.
Almost.
Because at the end of the night Brandon doesn’t kiss me.
And when I fall asleep that night, all I’m thinking about is how much I wish he had.
* * *
On Monday morning I’m in such a good mood that I take extra time to do my hair. I leave most of it loose and flowing around my shoulders but pull one side back into three tiny braids. It’s one of my favorite looks, but it takes a long time, so I usually only do it when I’m super-happy.
And honestly, what’s to be upset about? Me and my dad are talking again, Ellie and I are friends, Brandon doesn’t seem to hate me, and I helped Lily move on. Everything’s on the right path.
Until I get to school.
I haven’t even gotten to my locker when I hear an announcement come over the loudspeaker. “Will Kendall Williams please report to the main office, Kendall Williams to the main office.”
Yikes. It’s probably so they can schedule my detention for skipping class. But whatever. Detention isn’t that bad. At least, not that I imagine. I’ve never actually been to detention. But I know you pretty much just sit in a room and do your homework.
I stop at my locker to drop my coat off and gather my books for the morning.
By the time I’m done, they’ve called me to the office two more times. God, don’t they have anything else going on? It’s that much of a slow day that they have to be that concerned with me and my stupid detention?
But when I get to the office, I find Brandon, Madison, and Micah sitting in the reception area, waiting for me.
“Finally,” Micah says. “Where have you been, babe?”
“I was at my locker,” I say. “Wait . . . what are you guys doing here?”
Madison doesn’t answer me. She just taps her shoe on the floor and looks bored. “I hope this runs into first period,” she says. “And they better give us a pass. I want to miss class, but if I’m late again, Mr. Turturo is going to flip.”
“Mr. Jacobi called us down here,” Brandon says.
“Oh.” I sit down. “It must have something to do with tutoring.”
Brandon shrugs, and I can tell we’re wondering the same thing. Why would Mr. Jacobi call us down here about tutoring? He could just talk to us in class. You don’t get called down to the main office unless you’ve done something wrong, unless you’re in trouble for something. But we haven’t done anything. We—
“There you are!” Mr. Jacobi says, hurrying into the main office. I wonder if he was at that coffee shop, grabbing coffee. He looks at us. “I have received some very disturbing news from Ms. Gruber, the elementary school teacher, about the methods that some of you are using to teach fractions.”
Hmmm. I don’t recall any crazy methods we used. Although, supposedly they’re changing how they teach math, like, every year lately. So whatever we learned when we were in fourth grade is probably out of date. But how are we supposed to know that? It’s not like they gave us any training.
“Does anyone want to explain themselves?” Mr. Jacobi asks. His eyes land on each one of us. Wow. I never realized how penetrating his stare is. “Anyone?”
No one says anything.
“Okay,” he says. “Will this jog any memories?”
He rummages through his bag and produces a magazine. A magazine that he holds up and flutters around in front of him so hard that the secretary looks up from her computer.
“Hey!” Micah says. “That’s the magazine we gave to that girl, uh, our student . . . What was her name?”
Oh my God. “Vivienne,” I supply helpfully.
“Good job,” Mr. Jacobi says sarcastically. “You can imagine my surprise when I found out that my students—who were supposed to be setting a shining example for those who are less fortunate—were bribing the young people!”
That doesn’t really make any sense. Because Vivienne definitely wasn’t less fortunate than us. She had a Michael Kors watch, for God’s sake.
“Now,” Mr. Jacobi says. “Which one of you came up with the bright idea to give this magazine to Vivienne?”
Everyone gets very quiet.
Micah looks down at the floor. Brandon just sits there, his hands folded in his lap. My hands tighten around the strap of my bag. Even Madison seems nervous.
I know we’re all thinking the same thing—it was Madison’s fault, but none of us are going to tell on her. It’s one thing to get in trouble for something like this. It’s another to actually squeal on someone.
“If none of you want to tell me which one of you came up with this idea, then I’m going to have to assume it was all of you.”
Still no one says anything.
Great. Now I’m going to end up in detention again, probably for longer this time. I glance at Brandon out of the corner of my eye. Is it wrong that I’m kind of excited about the fact that we’ll be in detention together? Not that we’ll be able to talk, but still. Detention with Brandon seems dangerous and forbidden. Maybe he’ll pass me a note when the teacher isn’t looking. And then I’ll smile and—
“Well, then I have no choice but to fail the four of you,” Mr. Jacobi says.
“What?” I gasp. “Fail us?”
“Yes, Ms. Williams,” Mr. Jacobi says. “This is a gross breach of an agreement we had with the elementary school, and all of you will have to pay for that.”
“But that’s not fair!” I say. “It’s not our fault!”
“It is your fault,” Mr. Jacobi says.
I glance at Madison. Surely she’s going to step up and admit that she’s the one who did it. But she’s just sitting there, shaking her head with an outraged look on her face, like she can’t believe this is happening to her.
And then I get it. She’s waiting for someone else to take the blame.
Ha!
There’s no way that’s going to happen.
If I’m going to fail because of her, she’s going to have to fail as well.
And then I see Brandon.
He’s shaking his head, and I know what he’s thinking. There goes his A.
But then why doesn’t he tell on Madison? Is he going to? Maybe I should just tell Mr. Jacobi she’s the one who did it.
But then I realize the problem with that plan. If I accuse Madison, she’s going to accuse me back. And if she accuses me back, it’s going to look like we’re just doing it because we don’t like each other. Mr. Jacobi knows that we got into a fight that day right before going into the school.
I look at Brandon again.
He looks miserable.
And then I know what I have to do.
“Mr. Jacobi,” I say, standing up. “I’m the one who gave Vivienne the magazine.”
Chapter
14
Okay, so it’s not like I’m offering to fail math for a boy. It really isn’t. I mean, let’s face it. I have a chance of failing anyway, and Brandon really doesn’t deserve to fail. In fact, it feels kind of noble, standing up and sacrificing myself for the ca
use.
It’s like I’m in the last scene of a movie, where I’ve done something to prevent an injustice, and now I’m going to be led away all martyr-like to a jail cell. It almost feels like I should put my hands out and wait for Mr. Jacobi to slap on some handcuffs.
But before I have a chance to really bask in the glory of my sacrifice, Brandon speaks up.
“That’s not true,” he says. “It wasn’t Kendall who gave Vivienne the magazine. It was Madison.”
I gasp.
Madison gasps.
The only one who doesn’t gasp is Micah. He just nods. “Yup,” he says. “It was Madison.”
“That’s a lie!” Madison says. “Kendall admitted it. She’s the one who gave Vivienne the magazine!”
“Oh, please,” Brandon says. “You’re the one who’s into reading all that stuff.”
He points to Madison’s bag, which is on the floor. A bunch of magazines are poking out of the top.
“That doesn’t prove anything!” Madison says.
We all start talking at once then, and Mr. Jacobi puts his hand up and shouts, “Enough!”
We all shut up.
“Kendall,” he says, “is this true? Is Madison the one who gave Vivienne the magazine?”
I nod. Then I realize I’m still standing up, so I quickly sit down.
“Then why did you say you were the one who did it?” he asks.
“Because I didn’t think it was fair that everyone got in trouble,” I say. “Brandon has worked really hard for his grades.”
Mr. Jacobi looks at me like he doesn’t know if he should believe me or not. I hold my breath and keep his gaze, not daring to move. And then I see understanding dawn on his face. “Well,” he says.
He turns to Micah. “You are corroborating this story?”
Micah nods.
And then a little evil grin comes over Mr. Jacobi’s face. “Good,” he says. “Ms. Baker, please come with me. The rest of you are free to go to class.”
“But it’s their word against mine!” Madison whines. “And you know that Kendall doesn’t like me!”
“True.” Mr. Jacobi steeples his fingers together. “But the young student in question told her teacher who gave her the magazine.”
“So then why did you ask us?” Brandon asks. “If you already knew?”
“Because I wanted to see if you would admit it. But apparently some of you don’t know how to do the right thing. Now please follow me to the principal’s office, Madison.”
It’s such a dirty trick that I can’t even muster up any kind of happiness that Madison is getting in trouble.
I sigh and pick my bag up, then head out of the office.
I’m halfway down the hall when I hear Brandon call my name.
“Kendall!”
I turn around to see him hurrying toward me. “Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
He’s so close that my heart does a little somersault, and it feels like butterflies are cartwheeling around in my stomach.
“That was really awesome, what you did back there,” he says. “I wasn’t . . . I want to let you know that I would never have let you take the blame.”
“I know,” I say. “Thanks. It means a lot, what you did.”
He sighs and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, you know, for how things have been between us.”
“It’s not your fault.” I give him a small smile, trying not to let him see how crazy I’m going inside, how I feel tingly all over, how much I miss him, how I want so badly to be back in his life, even if it’s just as friends. “I know I dropped a lot on you with um . . . what I told you.”
“And it’s still true? What you said about my mom? About being able to see her?” He’s looking at me, giving me a chance to say I made it up.
My throat gets tight, and my heart squeezes. It would be so easy to make up some kind of excuse. But I know I can’t do that anymore.
“It’s true,” I say. “I know you don’t understand it, but I don’t . . . I don’t want to lie to you, Brandon.”
I expect him to brush by me down the hall, but to my surprise he doesn’t. He just nods.
We stand there for a second, not saying anything. I’m trying to think if there’s anything I can do to convince him, or if I should even bother. And then Mrs. Dunham appears down the hall. My heart soars. She’s back, because I’m with Brandon! And if she’s back, there might be a chance.
And seeing her gives me an idea.
“Brandon,” I say. “I can’t make you believe me, and I understand that you’re doubtful. But I do see your mom.” I take a deep breath. “She has long hair and she’s wearing a flowing blouse and she really loves you a lot. And she told me about the green paper, the one she gave you right before she died.”
A look of shock crosses over Brandon’s face. “She told you about that?”
“Yes.”
He sighs. “It just sounds so crazy, Kendall. You have to know that.”
“I do know that.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I can’t bear to just stand here. I won’t be able to stand it if he walks away. So I decide to do it first. “Well, I’m always here if you want to talk. Take care of yourself, Brandon.”
I turn and start to walk down the hall, my heart beating fast, my stomach in knots. I’m sad. But I’m also proud of myself for telling the truth.
“Kendall!” Brandon calls.
I turn around.
He rushes up to me. “Don’t walk away yet.” He bites his lip in frustration. “I don’t know about this whole ghost thing. But I know you’re a good person, Kendall.”
I nod. I can feel my eyes filling up with tears. It means so much to me that he said I’m a good person, that he at least isn’t totally discounting what I’m saying.
He steps closer to me. “I’m sorry I left that day,” he says. “When you told me. I was just shocked. And I’m still not sure I believe it, but I . . . I miss you, Kendall.”
“I miss you, too,” I breathe.
“Can we try again?” he asks. “To be boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“I want to,” I say. “But what about the stuff with your mom?”
“I don’t know,” Brandon says. He looks down at the floor, and for a second I’m afraid he’s going to take it all back. But then he looks up. “We’ll just have to figure it out together.”
I smile, and then he brushes his lips against mine.
And then he takes my hand and walks me to class.
* * *
Over the next week things start to get back to normal.
Brandon and I are together again. Ellie and I are friends again. (It feels a little weird that I haven’t told her about the ghosts, especially since Brandon knows, but I’m planning on telling her soon. I just have to find the right time.)
It’s a Wednesday afternoon after school, and Brandon’s walking me home when my phone rings, displaying a number I don’t recognize on the caller ID.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hi, Kendall?” a voice says. “It’s me.”
Even though I’ve never heard her voice on the phone before, I recognize it instantly. It’s my mom.
“Oh,” I say. “Um, hi.”
“Hi.”
There’s a pause.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m just walking home. With Brandon.”
Next to me Brandon smiles and squeezes my hand.
“Oh.” If she’s surprised I’m with Brandon, she doesn’t let it show in her voice. There’s a long pause, and I’m not sure if she’s waiting for me to say something or not. But she called me, so I’m not going to make an effort to make conversation. I stay quiet.
“Anyway,” she says. “I was just calling to let you know that I’m going to be in the area later, and I’d love to have dinner with you.”
I’m surprised by her offer, and confused. Do I really want to meet with her? I don’t know.
“Are you there?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Um, can I text you in a little while? And let you know?”
“Of course.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Another pause.
“Well, bye,” she says.
“Bye.”
I click off and stare at the phone.
“Who was that?” Brandon asks.
“My mom.”
“Oh.” He’s surprised. Brandon knows I haven’t seen my mom since I was little, but I haven’t told him about the recent developments.
“I went to see her a couple of weeks ago,” I say.
His eyes widen in surprise. “Wow,” he says, and squeezes my hand. “How was that?”
I shrug. “It was okay.” We’re at my house now, but we stand on the porch, talking. I would invite Brandon inside, but my dad’s truck is in the driveway, and I kind of want to talk to Brandon about this in private. “But now she wants to meet me for dinner tonight.”
“And you don’t want to go?”
I fiddle with the key chain on my backpack. “It’s not that I don’t want to go. It’s that I don’t know if I want to go.”
He nods.
“It’s just . . . I don’t understand why she’s suddenly so interested in seeing me. I mean, she didn’t have any interest in getting in touch with me until I went and saw her.”
“Maybe she was afraid.”
“Afraid? Of what?”
“Rejection.”
“Maybe.” The thought never occurred to me before. That my mom might be afraid that if she tried to reach out to me, I would reject her. Of course, that doesn’t explain why she left in the first place. But maybe she had reasons I can’t even begin to understand. Kind of like how I had reasons for the crazy things I was doing and I couldn’t tell anyone. “Anyway,” I say. “I should probably go inside and start my homework. I’ll call you later?”
“Yeah. And text me about what happens with your mom.”
Brandon gives me a quick kiss, and then I walk inside.
I say hi to my dad, then grab a snack and start working on my homework.
But a second later he walks into the kitchen, where I’m sitting. “Everything okay?”
I’m about to answer automatically that it is, but then I change my mind. “Not really. Mom called me. She wants to meet for dinner.”
Ghost of a Chance Page 15
