Girl Incredible

by Larsen, Patti

  “Miss you guys.” Is that what Mom and Dad are so worried about? The fact I’m an only child all of a sudden? I slump in the swing seat, feet scuffing the shallow ditch beneath me countless sneakers have made over the summer. Maybe they’re right. That could be the real cause of my discomfort, my loss of self. If Clare and Calvin were here, they would have found a way to help me get back at Tom and save Tate from whatever was happening.

  But, I’d lost my backup. Just like Kitalia lost hers.

  I’ve misplaced interest in the swings almost as quickly as I sat down and, with a sad glance around, turn for home. I duck under the chain hanging from the posts bordering the green space, hands tucked into the pockets of my jeans, head down. It’s funny, I’ve always felt like I had the whole world in my hands, like everyone loved me, that I had more friends than I knew what to do with. But, as I make my way home, I find myself feeling the most alone I ever have in my entire life.

  A footstep scuffs behind me and someone laughs.

  ***

  My head jerks up from my contemplation of my most unsatisfying day, mind sharpening as I reach out to feel the darkness. Someone is out there. Watching me. Following me.

  A large number of someones.

  What is this? I pick up my pace, bracing myself as three, four, five assailants pace me, their minds shuttered but locatable thanks to my power. I’ve kept my nose clean, kept myself out of trouble since being accused of countless indiscretions in that joke of a meeting three weeks ago. For my bosses who I trusted and who I thought trusted me to take the inconsistencies listed in my reports as some kind of impropriety was the utmost in agony, a dagger to the heart. I’d sat there, Tatiana handing over folders looking guilty and apologetic, but passing on the lies therein just the same. There was nothing I could do to defend myself—somehow, T.B. had found a way to tap into my reports and alter a few key notes, just enough to make me look bad. Nothing actionable, but as a whole, enough to put me on desk duty.

  Desk duty. Me. Their most powerful psychic. They’d lost their collective minds. And so had I, clearly, letting him take me out that easily. But, without proof of his wrongdoing, any step I took would be seen either as a deflection from my guilt or jealousy.

  It sucked so much. Yes, I was still looking for proof and you’d be damned sure I was going to find some. But, as the weeks went by and nothing turned up, my time chained to a desk making me crazy, I’d lost my patience and gone digging today.

  And now, tonight, as if right on schedule, I was being followed. By ninjas.

  God damn it.

  You can’t hide from me, Kitalia. His voice is in my head. I know every step you take. Have a nice walk home.

  I pick up my pace, almost running now, but not yet. I’m not ready to bolt. Still considering if I need to fight just to purge this desperate fury from my system. As I near my new safe house, they melt away until I’m left standing outside the brownstone I’ve called home since abandoning the last place I’d laid my head.

  Looks like I need to move again.

  ***

  I stop, panting, on the edge of my driveway, looking back over my shoulder. The night is quiet, and now I’m sure I imagined being followed from the park, the hammer of shoes on pavement mine, the laugh just a night bird’s call misheard.

  My phone vibrates. I glance down at it.

  You looked at Tate. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Here’s another reminder of who owns you.

  I jerk my head up as something hard hits me in the chest, cracks and breaks open. Shattered egg shells and innards drip from the front of my t-shirt as someone—a male someone—laughs in the darkness.

  I stand there, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, jaw setting as the anger returns.

  I didn’t do anything, I kept my nose clean, my head down. Yes, I looked at Tate today. I looked at another person. I have the right to do that. And yet, Tom just made it clear to me he’s not going to let this go. Ever.

  Kitalia growls her fury inside me while the angry part of my soul wakes and joins her. I’m done playing whipped girl. He’s gone too far, taking this to my house, my back yard. To the park where I can at least feel connected to my brother and sister.

  I’m so done. I stomp one foot, loving the feeling of it, the aggression. Would be so much better with my boots, though.

  My boots. I think of them, their innocence, their loss, like they were my best friends. And I grow angrier by the second. Come on, Kit. You’re a genius, aren’t you? Why are you taking this crap from a wannabe computer nerd with a God complex? He owes you a pair of boots.

  He owes you an apology.

  If I’m going to survive grade eleven, I’m going to have to find a way to make him stop.

  ***

  Chapter Seventeen

  I’m feeling better as I enter the kitchen, mind turning, my optimism and excitement rushing to greet me as I ponder the problem. I normally love problems and figuring out how to solve them. And I let Tom Brown take that away from me. I’m smirking with what has to be satisfaction at the imagining of his downfall as I stride through the glass door. Until Mom turns around and lets out a squeak at the sight of me.

  “Kitten MacLean! What happened?”

  I brush her concern off with one of my old grins, so happy to feel myself again I lunge to hug her. She avoids me and the sticky mess, handing me some paper towel. “Just a prank,” I say, skipping past her, enthusiasm returned where once it was impossible even to fake. As I wink at her, I feel it surge. Tom’s declaration of war has freed me. And I’ve never felt more alive.

  I leave Mom gaping at me as I run upstairs to shed my egg-besmirched clothing and make a plan. I have to be smart about this, smarter than Tom. If he finds out I’m poking around, he’ll make my life miserable.

  He’ll try. I grin into the quiet of my room and do a little dance in my striped socked feet. He’ll try to make me miserable. But, that’s my strength, isn’t it? The fact he might be able to poke holes in my optimism, but in the end, happy is more powerful than mean and vindictive.

  At least, I’m going to do my best to prove that theorem and shove it in his smirking face.

  I find it hard to sleep, my mind whirling, for the first time since I can remember lost in my own excitement rather than anything I might dream up for Kitalia. The more I think about this challenge, the more it feels like it could be fun if I play this right. How could I have allowed Tom to bring me so low when, honestly, he can’t really do anything to hurt me, can he? Sure, my boots are gone and he seems to enjoy doing his best to make other people feel small and vulnerable. But, he’d done his best to intimidate me and I am still standing. Still smiling.

  That smile is hard to suppress as I walk to the bus stop. Clancy and Abigail keep their distance, so at least I don’t have to pretend too hard to keep them from noticing the old me is back. A benefit of being under Tom’s scrutiny, I guess. Though, it’s made me wonder. If he’s trying to intimidate me—and Tate, I can only imagine she’s still a victim in all this—how many others is he doing the same to? Didn’t he come out and tell me he owned Rimtree High? That implies there are a great deal more students who might be suffering from his unoriginal brand of bullying.

  Jimmy is as silent as ever and I keep my own peace, letting him have his privacy for now. I can’t wait to fill him in on my brilliance, though, once this is all over. He’ll be amazed at how creative and smart I am, turning things around on Tom.

  But first I need to understand exactly what’s going on.

  It’s easy enough to lean over to Abigail in law and commiserate over her C on our last test. Even easier to sigh and complain a little, though it’s not really my style, she seems to enjoy gossip from what I’ve been able to ascertain.

  “Mr. Gladwell is so mean.” I roll my eyes at the door. He hasn’t returned yet. He left after handing out our tests, summoned to the office. I hide my A from her as she nods, snapping gum I know he’ll demand she spit out when he returns.

  �
�I know, right?” She exhales her artificial strawberry sweet breath over me. Her forehead clenches, irritation obvious as she whispers, “And I was supposed to get a B.”

  “That sucks,” I say. I’m sure she studied, but she’s never been a B student. “So, do you know Tom Brown?”

  Abigail’s eyes narrow and she leans away. “I should get back to my work.”

  Mr. Gladwell didn’t assign any, but she’s suddenly face first into her text book. Darn. I guess I was too heavy handed. Time to try a more subtle approach.

  “I’m happy to help on your next test.” Maybe she’d be more open to chatting if we could study together.

  Abigail rolls her eyes at me and pulls her gum out of her mouth, tucking the well-chewed piece under the edge of her desk as Mr. Gladwell reenters the room, huffing and red-faced. “If someone would do his damned job, I wouldn’t need to study.” She looks angry again, but there’s no time to talk. Not while my least favorite teacher launches into a diatribe about how this class—his class—is dragging down the entire school’s GPA curve.

  Not need to study? She’s nice and everything, but I’ve known Abigail most of my life and she’s sadly just not that smart.

  Dead end, I guess. I have to dig deeper.

  I catch up with Betsy Bearston in gym class, grinning at her while she ties her sneakers. She offers a faint smile back as the rest of the girls leave, one of them waving at her and giggling. She looks uncomfortable for some reason, standing quickly though her right lace is still undone, staring after them. I step into her path as she tries to leave, too, pointing down at the offending accident waiting to happen.

  Betsy sighs and shrugs, sitting down to tie it. Wow, she must really hate laces the way she jerks on them like that.

  “Hey, Betsy.” I haven’t had much of a chance to catch up with her this year, she’s been so busy with basketball and I’ve been lost in my funk and everything.

  “Hi, Kit.” Her deep voice always reminds me of a guy, but she’s really nice so I’ve never said anything about it.

  “How’s first semester going?” I smile brighter, shake my fists in the air. “Go Rimtree Owls!”

  She stands up, smiles back, though she looks really tired. Poor thing needs more sleep. “We’re not in regular season yet, Kit.”

  Oh. I really have to pay more attention to the school athletics schedule. No matter. I bounce on my toes, hearing Mr. Shute blow the whistle in the gym beyond the swinging door. Betsy notices too, seems impatient to be going.

  I let her, shoulders sagging. Another chance lost. But, as she reaches the door, Betsy pauses and sighs again. Turns back and smiles at me, her tired look gone.

  “Did you need something, Kit?”

  I beam at her. Good old Betsy. “Just wondering how you are.”

  She shrugs, looks out the little window into the gym before turning back to me. “I was wondering the same about you.”

  “I’m great.” Maybe I should be holding onto my hangdog show, the one I’ve been wearing for weeks, but I just can’t manage it.

  She seems confused. “I thought you were having some trouble.” She stresses the word, whispers it as she leans toward me.

  I shrug. “Well, that’s the thing about trouble. It comes and it goes.”

  She looks stricken a moment, wipes at her mouth with one hand. “I wish.”

  What exactly did that mean? I take a step closer, letting my smile fade. “Betsy,” I say, carefully, like I would to a dog that didn’t know me, “do you know Tom Brown?”

  She twitches, looks scared a moment and I have the answer I need. But she’s not about to tell me anything. “We’re late.” She rushes from the locker room and I hear Mr. Shute yell her name. I know he’ll probably do the same to me for being tardy and exit with my chin up, but he doesn’t even notice, thank goodness.

  I spend the rest of class trying to get Betsy’s attention, but she’s too focused on Mr. Shute. That’s okay, I’ll track her down and talk to her later. But, I think I’m right, I’m really on to something. Her reaction seems to meet the criteria for “suspicious”.

  ***

  Chapter Eighteen

  The rest of the day goes similarly, even Clancy Parker, who I consider a goody two-shoes though I’d never tell her so, acting all odd around the name Tom Brown.

  “Don’t you dare bring that darkness to my doorstep, Kit MacLean,” she snarls at me when I pin her down at our bus stop. She looks over her shoulder at Abigail who chews her gum—a new piece, I assume—watching us and waiting for Clancy to join her. “Just stay away from me and stop asking questions.”

  I exult in my heart as she walks away, Abigail’s narrowed eyes focused on me a moment until I turn, head down, and slump my way home. At least, that’s how it looks on the outside. Inside, I’m leaping and bounding every step.

  It only takes me another day of talking to students, of my keen interrogation and observation skills, to gather the absolute proof I need I was right about Tom and his tactics. If what I’ve been told through my subtle thread of questioning is true, more than half the student body either owes him something or is being blackmailed.

  Okay, so the blackmail part I stumbled on, but I’ll count it as a win, anyway. I just happened to be in the right place—the library—at the right time—third period—to catch Julie Smalls and Kirk Morris talking in the rear stacks where I researched my law project.

  “Just tell him you’ll do it.” Kirk’s voice sounded desperate. Enough I paused in re-shelving three books completely filed out of what Dewy Decimal intended to listen. “No one will know and he said he’d destroy the picture if you do.”

  “What if he doesn’t?” Poor Julie sounded like she was ready to cry. I slipped The Law, The Prison System, and You off the shelf in front of me and peeked through to the other side. Kirk had his arm around her shoulders, Julie with her blonde head pressed to the plaid of his shirt. “I heard he never destroys them, Kirk. He keeps them forever.” She shuddered and wiped at her face while his cheeks darkened. I’d known them both since childhood and they’d been boyfriend and girlfriend since ninth grade. Everyone thought they’d be together till they died.

  His brown hair, shaggy around his collar, shook as he let her go. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

  “No!” She grabbed his arm, pulled him back. Tears tracked through the makeup on her face, leaving black rings under her pale eyes. She had the biggest lips of any girl I’d ever met, and they were even bigger now, swollen and puffy like she’d been biting them. “He’ll ruin us both.”

  Kirk’s hands clenched at his sides. “Tell me what the picture is of, Jules.”

  She hesitated, shook her head, ponytail shuddering. Julie glanced over her shoulder at the stacks leading to the front of the library before lowering her voice to a whisper. “I can’t.”

  “It’ll lose its power, won’t it?” He met her eyes. “It’s of you with Donnelly.”

  She choked and so did I, almost dropping the book in my hand. Any guilt I felt over eavesdropping died as Julie sobbed softly.

  “I don’t know what happened,” she said. “I swear, I didn’t do anything. But he has a picture, Kirk.”

  Kirk’s anger vibrated a moment, and then he sagged. “He has one of me, too,” he whispered back. “With Abigail.”

  Julie covered her mouth with both hands. “What are we going to do?”

  “There’s nothing we can do,” he said, grim, furious but sounding as impotent as I felt for three long and terrible weeks. “We do what he tells us or those photos go public.”

  “Does it matter now?” Julie’s shoulders went back and I secretly applauded her bravery, almost giving myself away in the meantime.

  But Kirk seemed defeated. “You really want those pics made public, Jules?”

  She shook her head then, mute.

  The two of them left the stacks and I slipped around the corner, making sure they didn’t see me. Maybe I should have gone to them both, told them I knew, that I’d he
lp them, but at the time I was still in evidence gathering phase and until I processed this new information, I needed time and space to think.

  It seems like forever ago. I finally catch Betsy again at the edge of the basketball court in the park two days later. And, as the sun goes down, I sit her next to me on the bench with books between us—loudly proclaiming I’m happy to tutor her in math anytime—before she slips her phone from her bag and shows me the picture that’s keeping her hostage.

  I try not to act over eager. She’s clearly upset by the whole thing, though seems relieved to be sharing with someone. I take the phone gently from her hand and examine the evidence.

  Gasp and look up at her wide-eyed. She nods, swallowing hard, looking away into the setting sun, wide shoulders slumped.

  “I don’t know what happened,” she says in a thick voice as I return my gaze to the image and swallow hard.

  She’s almost naked, just her bra on, legs spread away from the camera, thank goodness, with Donnelly Holler and two other boys standing over her, pouring what looks like it might be beer over her body. She’s grinning at the camera, hand raised like she’s waving.

  Betsy chokes as I hand the phone back. “I went to the party at Rick Silver’s the weekend before school started.” A senior last year, he graduated with the twins. “I thought it would be fun. I don’t drink, Kit, I never have. Basketball is too important to me.” Any doubt I might have she’s at fault dies instantly and I smack myself internally. She’s too upset for this to be some mistake she’s made. “I remember being at the party then waking up at my house with my shoes on the wrong feet and my bra missing.” Betsy sniffs and wipes her nose on the back of her hand. “This picture was on my phone when I turned it on. With a text.” She hits a button before handing the phone back.

  I own you now, Bets.

  My stomach crawls and I don’t have to ask her who the text came from. “Tom Brown.”