I sigh. “Then I don’t know. Can we follow him in your mom’s car until he does something stupid?”
“I guess we could, especially if it were at night. But, like I said, I doubt he’ll go anywhere alone.”
“Is he still driving that pickup truck?” I ask. “The dark green one?”
“I think so.”
I look out the window. It has grown dark. “Maybe he’ll think he’s safe under the cover of night. Maybe he’s driving around right now.”
“Maybe.”
“Shall we go see?”
“Sure. At least we’d be doing something.” Joel reaches for my hand and pulls me off the couch. “Let’s go.”
Mom isn’t happy about us heading out so late on a Sunday night, but Joel assures her that we just need a coffee to wash down all the cookies we’ve eaten. She offers to make us coffee, of course, but when Joel tells her he’s craving a nonfat, double-espresso, sugar-free vanilla latte, her eyebrows arch and she agrees that he’ll have to go out for it. As the front door closes behind us, I swat his back.
“You’re bad!” I tell him.
“I am not!”
“You’ve never ordered a nonfat, sugar-free anything in your entire life!”
“You haven’t known me my entire life!”
“Just about!”
He grins and opens the passenger door for me.
As we turn onto Warren’s street a few minutes later, Joel shuts off the headlights and we slowly creep down the quiet road, eventually pulling up to the curb across from Warren’s house. He shuts off the motor. It feels surreal, this stalking, and suddenly I get the giggles.
“What?” Joel asks, smiling at me.
“I don’t know,” I answer and begin to laugh even harder. “This is just so crazy. Driving around without headlights. Spying on his house.” Now I’m out of control. “Nonfat milk. Double espresso.” I have to wipe away the tears that are running down my face. “We have to kill her!”
Joel starts to laugh too.
“Crawling in the doggie door!”
“Shhh,” he says, between his own bouts of laughter. “He’ll hear you from the house.”
But I can’t hold it in. Weeks of anxiety have found their release. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, and I cross my legs to keep from peeing myself.
Joel wraps one arm around my shoulder and clamps his other hand over my mouth. That works. The heat of his body is sobering. I look into his face and find him looking intently back, his breath warm on my cheek. I have to close my eyes and inhale deeply.
“Just nerves I guess,” I say, peeling his hand off my mouth and exhaling at the same time. I reach into my pocket and find some tissue stuffed in it. I blow my nose and wipe my eyes.
We turn and look at the house. Warren’s truck is parked in the driveway. There are lights on inside the house. “Now what?” I ask.
“We wait and hope he has to go somewhere tonight,” Joel answers.
“Have you got a cell phone?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You could phone him, disguise your voice, tell him you’re a neighbor and you noticed that his headlights have been left on.”
Joel nods, thinking about that. “I could.”
“But?”
“But I don’t think he’s that stupid.”
“It could happen.”
“It could. But he’d send someone else out to check for him.”
“So we could be waiting here forever.”
“We’ll give him an hour. Just long enough for me to drink that nonfat vanilla latte.”
I smile up at him, and he leans forward and kisses me softly. His lips brush across mine. I shiver. “Are you cold?” he whispers.
I don’t know whether it’s his lips on mine or the cool night air that causes the shiver, but I nod anyway. He pulls me into a warm embrace. His cheek rests against mine and I can feel his heart pounding right through to my chest. We rock together, ever so slightly. I’m breathing in the smell of him and feeling so safe in his arms. I pull my cheek back across his skin, and my lips seek out his again in the dark. We kiss some more, and Joel twists his fingers in my hair. I forget about Gotcha, about gambling addictions, about money problems. Gone are worries about grad and my missing father. All that matters are Joel’s lips on mine, and his hands that are now massaging my back through my jacket. I run my hands over his shoulders and down his arms. He breathes deeply, and his lips press a little harder into mine. Without breaking our kiss, his hands have moved around to the front of my jacket and he slides the zipper down. A moment later I feel the heat of his hands on my back, but now there’s only the thin cotton of my T-shirt between his hands and my skin. I’m swirling further and further away from my worries, allowing my lips to respond to his, which are searching, searching...
Ping.
We jump apart, startled. Something has hit the roof of the car.
Ping. It happens again. At the exact same moment we turn and look across the street. Warren is standing on his lawn, grinning. He tosses yet another pebble toward Joel’s car and we hear it bounce off the roof. Ping.
Twelve
We glance at each other. “Shit” is all I can think of to say, and I say it under my breath.
Joel rolls down his window.
“Busted!” Warren hollers across the street, laughing. Neither Joel nor I say anything. We’re too stunned.
“Couldn’t you two find somewhere more private to make out?” he asks, grinning.
Again, neither of us answers. I can’t make eye contact with Warren, and even without looking at him, I know Joel’s face is as red as mine.
Warren tosses yet another pebble at the car. “I just happened to glance out the window, looking for stalkers, and voila! There you two are, just sitting here, casing my house. What a lovely sight.”
Joel turns the key in the ignition and the engine fires up.
“Where are you going?” Warren asks. “Isn’t one of you at least going to try to tag me? How am I going to know which one of you has my name?”
Joel presses the automatic switch and the window begins to close.
“Don’t go!” Warren yells. Joel pauses with the window still half open. “I was enjoying the peep show,” Warren says. “There was the kiss, the prerequisite hug...I was looking forward to seeing who would make the next move. I was pretty sure it was going to be Joel, but then Kittiekat looked like she was getting hot...”
“Shut up, Warren,” Joel says and finishes winding up the window. He turns on the headlights and we pull away from the curb. I hear one last ping on the car as we head down the street, driving in silence. When we arrive at my house, Joel pulls up to the curb and shuts the engine off. I reach for the door handle, but Joel grabs my arm. “You’re not pushing me away this time, Katie.”
“I don’t intend to,” I say, though I realize I was just about to.
“Just ignore the stupid stuff he said.”
I nod.
“He knows it’s one of us, but he still doesn’t know which one. And that’s good.”
I just nod. Being startled has left me feeling drugged, unable to think clearly, like when the alarm shocks me out of a deep sleep.
“Let it go,” Joel says gently, pulling me closer.
I glance at my house, wondering if my mom is spying through the curtains on us. “Joel, can you let me out at the end of the block?”
“Sure.” He looks at me, puzzled, but turns the key in the ignition. We pass about eight houses and then I tell him it’s okay to park again. He turns off the car and pulls me back into his arms without a word. I gently push him away. He frowns. I lock the car doors and lean over toward him. His eyes smile at me, and then his lips are back on mine. I forget all about Warren.
Joel gets his mom to drop him off at my house Monday morning, and we walk to school together, arms linked. I’ve left the crutches at home, and I put a lot of weight on Joel’s arm as I limp along beside him.
I attend my first class,
turn in the project Mariah and I did together, and begin the long walk down the corridor to my next one. The halls are crowded, and I’m getting jostled. It makes me nervous that I could get bumped, forcing me to put all my weight on my sprained ankle. Maybe I’ve given up the crutches too soon. Eventually I make it to my second class, English Literature. I’m just settling myself into a desk when the phone, which connects each classroom to the office, jangles. Ms. Pearson picks it up, speaks into it and turns to look at me. She nods and then hangs up the phone. “Katie, Mr. Fetterly wants to see you in the office. Immediately.”
My heart bangs in my chest. What could he want?
I leave my books on my desk and limp toward the door. “You better take your books with you,” she says, not making eye contact with me.
I pause, puzzled, and go back to my desk to get them. The halls are empty now, and it’s not far to the office. I walk as slowly as I can. I know something is wrong, but I haven’t any idea what it is, and I’m in no hurry to find out. It could be a message from home, an emergency, but I doubt it. It must have something to do with the Gotcha game. But Fetterly doesn’t know we’re still playing, does he? Did someone squeal? Maybe he wants to know why I haven’t returned all the money. I feel a bead of sweat trickle down one armpit, and I force my feet to move even more slowly.
Eventually I reach the office, and the secretary is clearly expecting me. She looks sympathetic but motions for me to go directly into Fetterly’s office. He’s sitting behind his desk, typing on a keyboard. He looks up when I enter and motions for me to take the chair opposite his desk.
“Katie,” he says.
“That’s right.” I have no idea what I am supposed to say. He wheels his chair away from the computer and turns to regard me. He’s frowning. “Katie, I had a visit from Paige this morning.”
“Oh.” It takes a moment to register, but when it does, my stomach instantly clenches.
“She came to me to report that you are still playing Gotcha, even though I have banned the game and spelled out the repercussions to your entire class.”
I can only stare at him. Why would Paige do this? She’s going to have to answer to the entire class.
“You know what those repercussions are, don’t you?”
I nod.
Fetterly taps his fingers on the desk. He sighs. “Paige, however, would only name you and refused to divulge the names of any other grads who are still playing,” he says.
I continue to stare at him, uncomprehending.
He stares back at me. When he sees he’s not going to get a response, he continues. “Katie, I’ve taken a look at your school records. You are one of Slippery Rock’s finest students. You are on grad council. You’ve never been in trouble. Your teachers and classmates respect you. I know your name has come up as a possible recipient for many of our local scholarships. Potentially, a promising future awaits you. A suspension at this point in your life will seriously compromise all that.”
His words hardly register. All I can think is How could she do this to me?
“Why did you continue to play the game?”
I look down at my hands. I know she was mad. I know she hates me for setting her up, but to go to Fetterly...
I hear Mr. Fetterly sigh and lean back in his chair. “Katie, as you know, I always follow through on what I say I’m going to do. I have to. It’s the only way to run a school. Therefore, I’m going to have to suspend you.”
I stare at my feet. I can feel my ankle throbbing.
“Unless,” he continues, “you’re willing to cooperate with me.”
I look up, and our eyes meet.
“I would be willing to relax your punishment if you would name all the others who are still playing the bead game.”
“Relax my punishment?” It’s like I can hear the words, but they don’t register in my brain.
“Yes. I would give you a two-day-only suspension and allow you to attend graduation ceremonies.”
I regard him, still uncomprehending. “Allow me to attend graduation?” I ask.
“Yes, you don’t want to miss that, do you?”
Now I realize that he, too, is uncomprehending. I finally find my voice. “If I ratted out the people who are still playing Gotcha,” I tell him, “there would be no way I could attend graduation.”
He tilts his head, puzzled.
“They would kill me.”
“I think you’re exaggerating, Katie.”
“You’re right. They wouldn’t kill me. They would torture me slowly, painfully, and for the rest of my life I would be known as the person who snitched on the Gotcha players.”
“You’re getting carried away...”
My mind takes me back to that phone conversation I had with Warren after Tyson’s party. What was it he said? “You know what happens when you anger the Gotcha Gods.”
He’s right. The Gotcha Gods will haunt me for the rest of my life.
“The Gotcha Gods?” Mr. Fetterly asks.
Did I say that out loud?
“C’mon, Katie. I think this game is beginning to get to you.”
I look directly into his eyes. “You’re right, Mr. Fetterly, it is. I will take my suspension and miss grad. There is no possible way I can give you the information you’re looking for.”
Mr. Fetterly looks sad. “You go home and think about it, Katie. If you change your mind, come and talk to me.” He pushes a piece of paper across his desk. “Now that I know the game is still being played, I’ll find out who the other players are anyway. It might just save us both a lot of trouble if you’d write their names down now, before you leave.”
I shake my head.
“They’ll never know how I found out.”
“Oh yes they will,” I tell him. “It’s those Gotcha Gods...”
Mr. Fetterly regards me closely. “Would you like me to make an appointment for you to talk with someone?” he asks gently. “Like the counselor? It doesn’t matter that you’re under suspension.” I can feel him staring at me.
“No thank you.”
There’s a pause, and then he’s all businesslike again. “Okay then, I’ll be phoning your parents this afternoon,” he tells me. “You’re free to leave. Please don’t come back to the school until such time as you are invited to do so, or until you’re willing to talk to me again.” He wheels his chair back to the computer and, shaking his head, resumes his typing.
I limp out of his office and past the school secretary. I go straight to the front door and hobble across the schoolyard and down the street. Once again I have the feeling that I’m just an actress in a bad made-for-TV movie and if I were to look back, I’d see Paige standing at a window watching me leave, her arms crossed, a smirk on her face.
I don’t worry about being tagged on my way home. Everyone is still in school. When I arrive home, I reach into my jacket pocket to get my key. I put it into the slot, but when I turn it, I notice the door isn’t locked. That’s odd. I know for sure that I locked it when I left this morning. I glance at the driveway and then down the street. Mom’s car is nowhere to be seen.
I turn the knob slowly and push the door open. Right away I can see that someone has been in the house—or is still there. Looking down the hall toward the living room, I notice closet doors hanging wide open. The cushions on the couch have been pulled off and tossed onto the floor. My rational brain tells me I should get the hell out of here, but I also sense that the pieces of the puzzle don’t fit. The door was unlocked. It was not a forced entry. We own nothing valuable, nothing worth stealing. Why would someone be tearing our house apart?
Very quietly I step into the kitchen. Drawers have been pulled open and are left hanging on their hinges. Food has been pulled out of cupboards and dropped on the counters or the floor. How strange is that? Why would someone go through the kitchen cabinets? What would they hope to find here?
And then I hear footsteps in the hallway above my head. They’re clomping down the hall toward the stairs. I stand fr
ozen where I am. There’s no way I can get out of the kitchen before the intruder makes it downstairs. The person is making no attempt to walk quietly. I listen to each footstep on the stairs. Fifteen steps in all, and then they reach the main floor. They turn the corner to the kitchen. I swear my heart stops in my chest.
“Katie!”
“Dad?”
It takes me a moment to recognize him. He is days unshaven, and his hair hangs in matted strands. I can smell his body odor from across the room. His eyes are wide, startled to see me here.
“Why aren’t you in school, Kittiekat?” he asks.
“I’ve been suspended.”
“You have?”
I nod. “What brings you home?” I look around at the mess. He does too.
“I was looking for something I left here.”
“What was that?”
“Oh, just something,” he says vaguely. “Nothing important.”
“Are you looking for money, Dad?”
His eyes light up. “Have you got some, Kittiekat?”
I shake my head and sink into a kitchen chair. “I gave it all to you, Dad.”
He looks confused. He closes his eyes and shakes his head a little.
“You haven’t answered my e-mails,” I tell him.
“No, I’m sorry. The librarians have discouraged me from going into the library. That’s where I went to use the computers, and to work.”
“Work?”
“Uh-huh. Do my trading.”
“Maybe if you go have a shower and a shave and pick out some clean clothes from your closet, they’ll let you back in.” I can’t believe he’s gone downhill so fast. Was I so blind that I missed all the clues that he was heading this way? Wasn’t it just a few days ago that he was telling me he considered himself a lucky guy and that he was going to make me proud of him?
He looks down at himself, as if he didn’t realize the state of his personal hygiene. Then he shakes his head. “Did you say you had some money I could borrow, Kittiekat?”
“No,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady. “I told you that I gave you all my money, which really wasn’t my money to give, which you knew. You told me you were going to invest it and triple my investment. I believed you, Dad.”
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