The Secret Journal of Brett Colton

by Kay Lynn Mangum

  “Forget? Why would you want to forget your own brother?”

  “What’s there for me to remember? I wasn’t even two when he died. I couldn’t have meant anything to him anyway.”

  “I don’t believe that. I have a little sister—Emily—who’s eight now, and I was crazy about her when she was born. Still am, in fact.”

  I couldn’t help looking at him curiously. “You have a little sister, too?”

  “Yep. Just like Brett. I’m sure you meant a lot to him, too.”

  I turned away from Jason. “Well, it doesn’t really matter how he felt. He’s over. Dead and gone forever.”

  “Do you really believe that? That he’s ‘over’ and ‘gone forever?’”

  I shrugged. “Not entirely. I mean, my family talks about him as if he never left.”

  “Well, he is still part of your family, you know. He’s always going to be your brother.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll never know him, and he’ll never know me.”

  “Sure you will. Someday.”

  “You mean in ‘heaven’?”

  Jason grinned and lightly shoved my shoulder. “Now who’s mocking? Don’t you believe your life will go on after you die and that you’ll see your family again?”

  I shrugged again. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought much about it.”

  “Well, I do. I believe everyone keeps on living after they die. And that you can be together with the people you love again. Forever.” Jason’s blue eyes probed me again. “My family’s awesome. I can’t imagine not being with them forever. Don’t you want to be with your family after this life is over?”

  “Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind some distance from them,” I said dryly. I raised both eyebrows at Jason. “Is this what they teach you in that seminary class of yours?”

  Jason grinned. “That and more. You ought to come check it out.”

  “Or not,” I said lightly.

  “Why not?”

  I sighed. “I’m not sure I can deal with some of the crazy things you get fed in there.”

  Jason shook his head. “Is it so crazy to believe that we’ll keep on living after we die? And that you can be with your family again? What’s wrong with believing in a religion filled with hope? And so much other amazing stuff, too—you just don’t even know—”

  “Hey, Jas!”

  We both jumped a mile at the booming voice not far from our ears. Jeff and Brad, senior Varsity football players who liked to interrupt our study hour as much as Angela did, were standing five feet from us. I couldn’t believe we hadn’t heard them tromp over to the trophy case.

  Jason clumsily tried to put his Cool mask on fast. “Hey—what’s up?”

  “You coming or what?” Brad refused to acknowledge my presence, but Jeff was giving me one of his own appraising looks. One that looked me up and down and found me to be seriously lacking, as if I was a problem that needed to be solved. I nervously gripped the handles of my book bag tight with both hands and stared back at Jeff without blinking.

  “Yeah, I am.” Jason turned briefly to me with a flat, “See ya later, Kathy.”

  I watched Jason strut down the hall with his football buddies. Then I turned to look at Brett through the glass once more and waited for my heart to stop pounding before finally heading for home.

  ~

  “ . . . and that about sums up my day at work. So how was your day at school, Kathy?”

  “Yes, dear, how was school? And how is your tutoring of that football player coming?”

  “Yes, how is Mr. Jason West doing in English these days?” Dad teased.

  Mom and Dad had exchanged boring work stories over dinner, and now both turned expectantly towards me. At least they’d gotten over the Incident with Sam and Alex at our last family dinner. Neither had returned since that Unfortunate Event, but I wasn’t complaining.

  “Fine,” I said and put another forkful of salad in my mouth. Both continued to stare at me. “What?” I demanded, looking from one to the other.

  “Well, we’d hoped for a little more than that,” Mom answered with a frown.

  I sighed. “School’s fine. I’m still working on the Shakespeare drama skit, driver’s ed is going okay, English is great, and the tutoring’s okay, too.”

  “He’s being nice to you, isn’t he? That Jason West, I mean.”

  I grinned at Mom. “Of course. He’s a good little Mormon boy.”

  Mom had been drinking water out of her glass and nearly choked, gagging and coughing while Dad reached over to slap her on the back.

  “You okay, honey?” Dad said worriedly.

  “I’m fine—fine.” Mom shoved his arm away irritably and then turned back to me. “Mormon?” she gasped out, still coughing like crazy. “You never said he was a Mormon!”

  I frowned. “So? What difference does it make?”

  “How do you know he’s a Mormon?” Dad said curiously.

  “He told me so. But I would’ve figured it out eventually. He loves to bring up religious stuff that goes with our reading assignments. It’s kind of funny, actually.”

  “He’s not pushing his religion on you, is he?” Mom broke in. “Because if he is, then I think a talk with your English teacher would be in order.”

  I shook my head quickly. “No, no, Mom. It’s nothing like that. He’s just really into his religion and likes to find a religious slant in our reading assignments. That’s all.” I tried to explain, but Mom was already getting into a tailspin over the whole Mormon thing.

  “He wouldn’t be ‘sharing’ his ‘religious slants’ with you if he wasn’t hoping to talk you into his religion. I know how much Mormons like to convert other people.” Mom was angry. Upset, even.

  I tried my best to calm her down. “He’s not doing that, Mom. We always talk over whatever we’re assigned to read. He usually finds something that relates to his religion. It’s just the way he is—the way he reads stories and things. I don’t think he’s trying to convert me. Besides, sometimes what he comes up with is sort of interesting.”

  Mom shook her head and stood up, loudly stacking our dirty plates together and snatching up the silverware. “I still don’t like it. I don’t think it’s appropriate for him to be discussing religion with you in any way during your study hour. I thought you were just making sure he understood your assignments. I had no idea he was preaching to you as well—”

  “He’s not!” I yelled.

  “—thinly disguised as sharing his opinions and views of the stories,” Mom finished.

  “Good grief. And you wonder why I don’t like to share anything with you two!”

  Mom’s mouth dropped open in angry surprise, but Dad came to her rescue and grabbed my arm. “Don’t talk to your mother that way, Kathy.” I glared at Dad, and after a second he let go of my arm with a sigh. “Just be careful. Don’t let him talk you into anything. If I were you, I’d make him stay focused on the work at hand and not let him get off onto any religious tangents.”

  I stared hard at both of them for the next few silent, uncomfortable seconds, before clearing my throat and trying again. “So anyway, about my driver’s ed class—I need more practice behind the wheel. Neither of you has taken me out driving lately, and my birthday’s coming up in a few weeks. I’d really like to be ready to take the driving exam and not flunk.”

  “Changing the subject, I see—” Mom began, but Dad chuckled and shook his head.

  “I get the hint. Both of them. Want to go practice tonight, Kathy?”

  Was my dad actually being cool? “You mean, you’d take me driving?”

  “Grab your shoes and let’s go.”

  ~

  “So how’d I do?” I asked, easing my mom’s old Buick gracefully into our driveway. At least, in my opinion.

  Dad finally released his death grip on the dashboard. “Not too bad. Just don’t lean on the brake so hard every time you come to a stoplight. And no tricycle turns. Just slow down and make the turn. You don’t nee
d to jerk the car in the opposite direction before turning the wheel. Otherwise, you’re doing okay. For a nearly sixteen-year-old beginning driver.”

  I grinned. “I’ll work on that. Does that mean you’ll take me out again—tomorrow?”

  Dad raised his eyebrows. “Well, if I can’t, then your mom can. Or maybe Alex or Sam could, if they dare come over again.”

  I rolled my eyes. As if. “Don’t worry, Dad. They’ll come back. They always do.”

  “Just promise me you’ll behave yourself next time. That is, if you want to get your driver’s license.”

  “You and Miss Goforth must’ve been twins separated at birth,” I muttered, handing Dad the car keys. I reached for the door handle, but Dad put his hand on my arm.

  “Wait, Kathy—one more thing.” I pursed my lips before facing him, since I knew what was coming. Dad looked at me hard before speaking. “I think it’s great that you’re willing to help Jason West, but I have to agree with your mother. I’m worried he may be pressuring you.”

  “Dad, please! He’s not—” Throwing up my hands in despair seemed appropriate. “I wish I hadn’t said anything about it. I had no idea it would put you and Mom into orbit.” Like a thunderbolt to my brain, a thought erupted in my head that was really making wheels turn, so I stopped my own rampage to look curiously at Dad. “Why exactly is it bothering both of you so much? Why do you care that Jason’s bringing up religion, and that he’s a Mormon?”

  I couldn’t believe it, but Dad definitely looked trapped. “We just don’t want to see you go through anything upsetting because of Mormons, too,” Dad started, “and—”

  “‘Too’? Who else in this family has known Mormons before?”

  Unfortunately, nothing was going to make Dad say more. “Kathy, it’s really late—after eleven o’clock. You need to get to bed, and so do I.” I tried to interrupt again, but Dad wouldn’t budge. “If you want to go driving again, then go in the house and get off to bed. Now.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I’d been making Jason read out loud The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T. S. Eliot, during our tutoring session. Watching Jason struggle, I realized that lately I’d truly been enjoying our tutoring sessions. Jason’s focus had been better, he’d been studying harder, and we’d been able to get a lot of work done. In a word, it’d been great. Absolutely. There was no way anyone would ever get me to admit it out loud, but to myself, I could admit I didn’t mind helping a jock with English so much anymore. It definitely wasn’t so bad to have a popular, handsome, high school football star need my help. Especially when that someone was Jason. It was embarrassing to realize how much I looked forward to tutoring every day and how much I enjoyed every second of attention he gave me during that hour. In fact, I was almost sure that he liked the tutoring sessions, too. He always had a big smile when he’d see me come around the corner to our table, and the way he’d look at me always made me wonder what was going on behind those blue eyes of his.

  “‘To roll it towards some overwhelming question, / To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead—”’”

  “Lazarus? Isn’t that some guy from the Bible?”

  Jason looked like a dog being offered a cookie. “Yeah, he’s in the New Testament. Lazarus was a good friend of Jesus Christ. He raised him from the dead four days after Lazarus had died and was already buried in a tomb.”

  “Really? How did He raise him from the dead?”

  “He went with Lazarus’s two sisters and a bunch of other people to the tomb where Lazarus was buried, said a prayer to Heavenly Father, and then He said, ‘Lazarus, come forth!’”

  I listened with a grin on my face while Jason went on and on with the story, obviously thrilled that I was the one to encourage a religious discussion this time. Besides the fact that Jason was just plain fun to watch get all excited talking about anything of a religious nature with me (since I knew he thought I was basically a heathen), just knowing how disgruntled my parents would be about it pleased me. Immensely. Once Jason wrapped up his speech-slash-sermon on Lazarus, I yanked him back to the present with, “So, Jason, have you figured out what the question is?”

  “Question?” Jason gave me a blank look. He’d obviously forgotten Prufrock even existed.

  “Yes, the question. Poor Mr. Prufrock’s question. The one he’s afraid to rock the universe with.”

  Jason bumbled around, running his finger down the stanzas of the poem, mumbling, “Well, let’s see. He keeps trying to rethink how to ask, and he’s really worried about the outcome, and he also doesn’t know if he’s cool enough to ask. And he keeps putting it off—”

  “Hmmm—like someone else we both know,” I said dryly.

  Jason sighed, gave his book a frustrated shove, and leaned back in his chair. “Fine. You win. I’m not sure what this Prufrock guy’s problem is.”

  I shook my head and shoved his literature book back. “Think it through, Jason. What’s the most important question a man can ask a woman? A woman he’s become so attracted to he’s basically afraid of her? A woman whose opinion is so important to him that it would kill him if she didn’t respond well to his question. In other words, rejection. So we’re back to what the question is. And try to think bigger than the question of asking a girl to homecoming, although I’m sure that question wasn’t a hard one for you to ask.”

  I could see the wheels in Jason’s head spinning, trying to keep up with me, but my last words made him look up sharply and eye me narrowly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, the word Angela comes to mind.”

  “What makes you think I’m going with her?”

  “I guess the fact that she usually makes an appearance right about now every day gave me the first clue.” And then, like another one of my thunderbolts, I realized another reason why I’d been enjoying our study sessions lately. I hadn’t seen Angela bounce into our space in days. Days!

  “I don’t know that I’m going to ask her,” Jason said casually. Too casually. “Maybe I’m thinking of asking someone else. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought too much about it—”

  I laughed out loud. “What? You not think about the homecoming dance? Impossible.” I quickly assumed an exaggerated, deep thinking look. “Wait—hold on a second! I haven’t seen Angela in days . . . could I be smelling trouble in paradise? How tragic. The most perfect couple in school at odds. And the dance only a week away! How will Central go on? Maybe the dance ought to be cancelled!”

  Jason wadded up a piece of paper and chucked it at my head. “Yeah, laugh it up, but I don’t remember saying I’m in a fight with anyone. You’re the one who’s thinking that, not me.”

  I laughed and snatched the wad of paper and chucked it back at his head. “Well, if you’re not going to make up with Angela, then who are you going to go with? After all, it just wouldn’t do to have the Varsity quarterback not go to homecoming! You’re probably supposed to be crowned king of the dance!”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “Whatever!”

  “Come on, Jason—this is serious!” I taunted. “Who are you going to ask, if Angela’s out? Who, who, I wonder?” Watching Jason squirm was fun. Almost too much fun.

  “I don’t know. I guess if I get really desperate, I’ll just have to drag you along,” Jason announced calmly, looking straight into my eyes.

  That was the last thing in the world I had expected Jason to say. To me. Ever. I could feel the color draining out of my face. “Me?” I said stupidly. I tried to recover with a nervous laugh and a “yeah, right,” but it was too late. An evil grin was spreading all over Jason’s face.

  “Well, hey, now there’s an idea! Maybe we ought to go together!”

  “What—” I gasped.

  Jason scraped his chair loudly to move in close to me. Way too close to me. “I get it now. You’re trying to squeeze an invite out of me, aren’t you?”

  “What makes you think I’d want to go to a stupid dance with you and your big head?”


  Jason’s smile faded. “You mean, you wouldn’t?”

  For a second, I felt bad. Confused. “No—I—I didn’t say that!”

  “So you do want to go with me.” His evil grin had returned, the big faker.

  “I didn’t say that, either! Stop it! You’re putting words in my mouth!”

  Jason smirked and leaned in close to me again. “I think I ought to take you to homecoming, just so—”

  “So you can torture me more? Isn’t an hour a day enough for you?” I interrupted angrily.

  “Like you don’t enjoy torturing me? Please! I think you deserve to have to suffer through an actual school dance. With me.”

  “Like you’d really take me to a dance,” I scoffed, still scrambling to recover from the shock of his even talking about a dance with me.

  “You don’t think I would?” Jason had a challenging, dangerous look in his eyes that made me scrape my chair a few inches away from him. “Come on, Kathy,” he teased. “I’ll be fun! Just you and me and—”

  “And the entire school in scary colors and styles of tuxedos and ugly homemade prom dresses? No thanks.” I snatched my literature stuff up and jumped to my feet, ready to bolt for the door. But Jason was faster and sprang from his own chair to block my way, laughing. He wasn’t an annoying, fast, football playing quarterback for nothing.

  “You’re killing me, Kathy. But I’m serious. You better go home and break out the sewing machine, because I’ll be coming by for you next Saturday night. You just wait.”

  “I won’t be the one who’ll be waiting,” I said irritably, trying to move past him, only to be blocked at every try. I gave him a hard push with my book bag, but Jason was as solid and immovable as a wall. And my heart was pounding away. Irritating!

  Jason grinned. “You’re not leaving until you agree to be my homecoming date!”

  “You can’t make me agree to anything,” I sputtered.

  Jason raised an eyebrow. “I can’t? Well, then, I guess maybe I need some help here!”

  In one incredibly swift movement, Jason leaped onto our study table, and while my mouth hung open and my eyes bulged, he cleared his throat and raised his arms. “’Scuse me—’scuse me—hey, everyone! I’m trying to ask someone to the dance—”