by Robin Brande
At one point Casey's hand accidentally brushed against mine, and I jerked away like he'd burned it. Then I felt like an idiot. I almost wish Kayla hadn't said that about him having a crush on me. Now I feel all weird.
Not that I think it's true. I'm sure she just said that because she likes teasing her brother, and so telling me he likes me is just an extension of that. Besides, Casey doesn't act the least bit like he has a crush on me. I think I'd know, wouldn't I? We're just friends. And right now that's all I need.
At six I knew my fun times were over. I had to get home for dinner. So that's when Kayla started her key search and I prepared for the next stage of lying to my parents.
Finally she located her keys under a mound of dirty clothes and we were off.
“It runs,” Kayla told me when she saw me eyeing her car skeptically.
The front bumper was crushed, there were cracks in the windshield, and the seat covers looked like they'd been ravaged by cats.
“It was my dad's,” Kayla said. “I've kind of let it go.”
After letting her pump me for information about the Back Turners all afternoon, maybe I felt entitled to ask a few questions myself. Or maybe I was just too curious to be polite. “So, how did he die?”
“Cancer,” Kayla said, sliding in next to me and strapping down. “Fast, too. It was ugly.”
“How long ago?”
“Three years. I was a freshman, C was in sixth.” Kayla gave me a moment for that to sink in. “Kind of rough on the little guy.”
“I'm really sorry. That must have been awful.”
“Yeah, pretty hellish. But if it was going to happen, I'm glad it was that year.”
“Why?”
“Ms. Shepherd. She was my biology teacher—C probably told you that. Jeezus!” Kayla dodged a blue minivan at a stop sign and gave the driver a good dose of her horn. “Hang up and drive!” she shouted out the window.
When my nerves had settled down, I said, “So … Ms. Shepherd?”
“Right. Saved my life. No question.”
“How?”
“Because she was the only person who'd tell me the truth. Everyone else—the doctors, my parents—kept trying to protect me, but at least I could go to Ms. Shepherd and say, ‘Okay, now he's peeing blood. Now he's coughing up green chunks—what's that mean?’ All the really gruesome stuff. And she'd always give it to me straight. She'd log on to this hospice website and we'd go through the death signs and figure out where he was on the scale.”
“That sounds awful.”
“Yeah, but which would you rather? My dad was dying—nothing I could do about that. If my parents had their way, I'm sure I never would have known how bad it was until he was on his last breath.”
“They probably didn't want you to worry.”
“How can you not?” Kayla asked, her voice rising. “Anyone could see how bad he was. Toward the end, in the hospital, he was practically disappearing into his bed, like it was sucking him under.” Kayla shook her head. “It's hard to explain. You'd have to see it for yourself. But you definitely know when someone's about to go. I'm just glad Ms. Shepherd was honest enough to tell me so I knew three months ahead of time instead of three days.”
“Did Casey know?”
Kayla made a face. “I was as bad as my parents. I didn't want him to worry. How's that for hypocritical?”
“But he was only what, eleven?”
“His dad was going to die whether he was eleven or not. I should have prepared him better.” Kayla shrugged. “What're you gonna do?”
We were nearing my subdivision. I pointed to the entrance.
Kayla whistled as she made the turn. “Fancy.”
“Not really.” The truth was, I liked her neighborhood and her house much, much better.
“So what about you?” Kayla asked. “Both parents still kicking around?”
“Yeah.”
“That's good.”
Great. Bring on the guilt. On top of everything else, now with Kayla's help I was about to lie to them.
I felt compelled to explain. “Um, this whole pretending to be Casey thing? I just want you to know I don't usually lie to my parents. Almost never. They've just been a little … weird lately.”
“No sweat,” Kayla said. “Pretty harmless, if you ask me. I mean, what's the problem with being at my house anyway? It's not like we're smoking weed or having orgies. And my brother's about as innocent as they come.”
Which brought me right back to thinking about her earlier statement.
“How do you …” I didn't want to sound too interested, but I still needed to know. “You said Casey … likes me?”
“Are you kidding? Poor guy can barely think.”
“I don't … see that.” It felt really weird to be talking to Kayla about this, but I was too curious to stop. “So did he … I mean, did he actually say he likes me?”
“God, no. You think he'd ever hand me ammunition like that? But trust me. Usually all he talks about is Lord of the Rings and science fiction. Lately it's been ‘Mena said this, Mena said that.’ Kind of disgusting, if you want to know the truth.”
I couldn't think of a single thing I'd ever said in front of Casey that would be worth repeating.
“He thinks you're funny,” Kayla said.
“I'm not funny.”
“Obviously. He also let slip that you're pretty, which is true.”
“Shut up,” I mumbled.
“Aww.” Kayla reached over and pinched my cheek. “That's so cute!”
I brushed away her hand and tried not to smile.
We were almost at my house. Time was running out.
“Okay, so we'll say you're my lab partner—”
“No go,” Kayla said. “Not believable. I'm too old and sophisticated. Let me handle this. Parents love me.”
We pulled into the driveway and Kayla jumped out. She leaned back and took in the enormity of our two-story house. “Wow. How big's your family?”
“Just the three of us.”
“Huh.”
I could tell she didn't approve. But what can I do about it? I didn't pick our house.
I opened the front door and called out, “Mom?”
She poked her head around the wall between the kitchen and dining room and hushed me with her hand. She had the phone to her ear.
“Perfect,” I whispered to Kayla. “Just wave and go.” In a louder voice I said, “Okay, thanks for the ride, K,” and started to maneuver Kayla toward the door.
She ignored me and waved to my mother, then plopped into the nearest chair.
“I'll just wait to say hi,” she told me.
“No, really—”
She grinned. “Trust me.”
After a few minutes my mom hung up and came out to greet us. Kayla unfolded herself from the chair and straightened to her full height. Which is pretty impres sive when you see it at first—I could tell my mother thought so.
“Mrs. Reece? Hi. I'm Kayla Connor. My friends call me KC.”
OH. MY. GOSH. She's brilliant. Or I'm just stupid. KC equals Casey. I never even thought of that.
They shook hands. My mother winced a little at Kayla's grasp.
“So nice to meet you,” Kayla said. “Your daughter's a real science whiz.”
Okay, now that was stretching it, but my mother ob viously didn't want to say so in front of company. She flashed me an odd look, since we both knew my science grades in junior high were nothing to sing about.
“So,” my mother said, taking in Kayla's height again, “you're in Mena's class?”
“Oh no,” Kayla replied with a laugh. “I'm part of the teen mentoring program. We go all over the school— math, science, languages. …”
Kayla sort of drifted off with a nod, and we stood there in silence waiting for her to entertain us some more. My mother and I don't really have much to say to each other these days.
Kayla broke the spell with a clap. “So, Mena. I'll see you tomorrow, right?” She punched my
arm. “Good work on that graph today.”
“Um, thanks … for the ride and all.”
“No sweat.” Kayla shook my mother's hand again, much to my mother's surprise. She's not used to such business like behavior from people under twenty. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Reece. Keep up the good work.”
My mother fumbled for an appropriate response, but Kayla was already heading for the door. Her stilt-like legs covered the distance in three strides.
“Remember,” Kayla added as she turned the knob, “the x-axis carries the stable elements, the y is the volatile.”
“Okay.” I had no idea what she was talking about. “Thanks.”
Kayla smiled and exited.
“Well,” my mother said, “she certainly seems like a mature young woman.”
“She is,” I agreed.
We stood there another awkward moment, then my mother said, “Go finish your homework. Dinner won't be for a while. Your father has a meeting.”
“Want me to set the table?”
“No, do your work.”
And the freezing conditions continue.
I waited until dinner was almost over before telling my parents this science project is going to take at least two weeks, and I'll have to go to Casey's house every day.
“She seems like a responsible young lady,” my mother reported to my father. “I think she'll be good for Mena. Although we should meet her parents at some point—”
“Mom, she's just my mentor, not my best friend or anything.”
“What do we know about this girl?” my father asked. “Do they do any sort of drug testing before they let kids become mentors?”
“Look,” I said as calmly as I could, “I'm sure Kay—” I stopped because I almost said her real name, but then I realized it was all right—my mother already knew. I just have to be careful never to say “he.”
“I'm sure KC doesn't drink or do drugs,” I told my dad. “She's really into school.”
“She isn't the druggie type,” my mother confirmed.
As if she can tell things about people just by spending five minutes with them. She's known me my whole life, and she doesn't understand who I am at all. I'm sure if I had shown her that letter to Denny before I sent it, she would have tried to talk me out of it. Or just plain forbidden it. She doesn't understand that sometimes you have to tell the truth, no matter what the consequences.
“All right,” my father said, “but not on Sundays. You're still on restriction.”
“Yes, sir.”
Great. So I still have to waste three hours of my life pretending to watch TV preachers, just because I'm not wasting three hours of my life hanging out at church anymore.
Not that it was all a waste. I don't mean that. I'm glad I was brought up knowing about God and the Bible. I feel sorry for kids who weren't. It's just that what does sitting around with Teresa and Adam and the rest of them at church all day, bowling and playing darts and eating fries in the church food court, have to do with being a good Christian? Just because I don't go to church anymore doesn't mean I'm suddenly a bad person or I've forgotten everything I ever learned.
In fact, I think I could learn a lot more than I ever did at church just by sitting down on Sunday mornings and reading the Bible for a while. That sounds a lot better than listening to three hours of TV preaching where all they really want me to do is send them my money so I can be saved. Give me a break.
But if that's what I have to do to earn back my parents’ trust, I guess I have to do it.
Of course, lying to them about Casey seems to contradict that, but what else am I supposed to do? He's the only person—well, him and Kayla now—at that entire school who wants anything to do with me. He's a nice guy. He's interesting and fun. And he's going to help me get an A in science just for showing up and playing with his puppies. What could be wrong with that?
So why do I feel so guilty?
Twenty-one
I should have known something was up in English this morning, because Teresa was acting so abnormally bouncy (and I'm not just talking about the Jesus Loves Me, This I Know T-shirt she was wearing—two sizes too small as usual). She and Bethany had some serious whispering to do before class, and they looked over at me at least five times.
But I tried to put it out of my mind. I can honestly say those people aren't bugging me as much this week. Maybe it's because I've found someone else to hang out with. Or maybe I'm just getting over them.
Then right before I went into biology I ran into Casey. “This should be interesting,” he said as he opened the door.
There at the front of the room stood Kayla and Josh and some guy with a camera. Kayla wore jeans and her sports sandals and a T-shirt that said President Her. Ms. Shepherd (wearing wrinkled clothes, as usual) had her Starbucks and Kayla sipped a grande Frappuccino, and they were both laughing and carrying on like old pals.
“Under that smiling exterior,” Casey said ominously as we took our seats, “lies the soul of a ruthless killer.”
“What's going on?”
“The usual—investigation, confrontation, Kaylafication. No survivors. I recommend writing a will.”
“Why? What'd I do?”
“K says that stuff you gave her yesterday was pretty hot. I tried to warn you.”
“She just asked me a few questions—”
“Oh, no, no. Where K's concerned, there's no such thing as a simple question. She's like a tick. She finds a little blood and she gorges herself. I doubt she slept at all last night, judging from all the stuff I saw on her website this morning.”
“Wait a minute—your sister has a website?”
“Of course. In case you haven't noticed, K has an awful lot of opinions. And for some reason she seems to think everyone in the world would like to hear them.” Casey chewed the end of his pen. “To be fair, she does get about eight hundred unique visitors a day—”
“Eight hundred? A day?“
“Yeah. A lot of other bloggers link to her. And then there are all the orders for Josh's T-shirts.”
I'm sure the look on my face was one big “huh?” but the time for chatter was over. There was only about thirty seconds left before the bell, and all around us people were growing restless.
Kayla signaled for her photographer to move toward the back. She and Josh slipped over toward the side. The Back Turners sat facing front, poised for action. Everyone was in position.
The bell rang, Ms. Shepherd said the magic word, and the Back Turners flipped their chairs, just like it was a musical number they'd been rehearsing for weeks.
Kayla actually laughed out loud. I guess it is pretty funny the first time you see it. Her photographer clicked and flashed.
Everything seemed to be going well, until the door to the classroom opened and there stood our principal, Mrs. Martinez.
Along with her Very Special Guest.
I muttered a very bad word.
“Who's that?” Casey asked me.
“Our pastor.”
I slumped down in my chair.
But still he found me, eyes right on me.
Shoot. But that's not what I was thinking.
I could feel the sweat sliming my palms.
I hate that I'm so weak.
If anyone should feel uncomfortable, it should be him, not me. I'm not the one being sued. I'm not the one who set out to ruin some boy's life.
Yet I was the one trying to hide under my desk.
Mrs. Martinez didn't look so good. Her face was all gray and pinched, like she was having stomach problems. I could relate. She motioned for Ms. Shepherd to join her and Pastor Wells out in the hall.
Kayla whistled for her photographer, and the two of them followed. They were only gone a moment before Mrs. Martinez opened the door and ordered them back inside. Kayla still looked pretty happy. Her photographer must have gotten a few pictures.
She sauntered over to Casey's and my desks and gave my ponytail a tug. “Up till three this morning,” she told me,
“but I'm telling you, helluva story we've got here. You're gonna love it. We're delaying the issue until Friday so I can add in all the stuff from today. And boy, you shoulda seen the bloodbath at the school board meeting last night—hoo-wee! Wait'll I lay it all out—it'll make your teeth curl. We're talking the first high school Pulitzer.”
She reached out and fluffed Casey's hair into an even larger heap of curls. “How's it goin’, little bro?”
He flicked off her hand like it was no more bothersome than a mosquito. And he didn't even bother fixing his hair. I kind of liked that. “What'd you find out?” he asked his sister. “In the hall?”
“Big doin's. Wouldn't wanna ruin it for you. Just a little compromise they worked out at the school board last night so we could get outta there before sunrise. So,” she asked me, “any flak from your mom?”
“Huh? Oh no—she bought it.”
“Great. Listen, I'm gonna be a little tight for time this afternoon. Gotta meet some people for the paper. If you need a ride again, I'll have to take you early.”
“Okay, thanks—”
“That's great, K,” said Casey, showing some irritation. “Don't worry about us. I'm sure we'll get to our project one of these days. What, is it the competition that scares you? Can't stand to see our names on Ms. Shepherd's website?”
“Don't get your tighty-whities in a bunch, little man. I'm only talking half an hour. You'll still have plenty of time.” Kayla winked at me. “He's so cute when he's freakin’ out.”
The door opened again, and the trio returned. Ms. Shepherd did not look happy. In fact, the way she was glaring at Pastor Wells, I'm surprised his skin didn't melt right off his face.
“Apparently,” Ms. Shepherd said, her lips tight, “this gentleman will be allowed to make a statement.”
I hated myself for looking at Teresa right then, but I couldn't help it—it was just a reflex. She flashed me a triumphant smile.
“Unbelievable,” Kayla said, making no attempt to lower her voice. Ms. Shepherd gave her a subtle shake of the head. Kayla folded herself into the empty chair beside me and flipped open her pocket-sized notebook.
Pastor Wells held out his hand for the sheet of paper clenched in Ms. Shepherd's fist. “May I?” She didn't look at him as she handed it over. Pastor Wells slipped on his glasses and read. “ ‘Experts agree—’ “
