Grace obviously told Paz about the whole hand-up-the-shirt thing, and I assume Paz overreacted. Still, Joey has four inches and twenty pounds on Paz. If he really loved me, he’d fight for me. I guess the Perfect FB decided that Lu Perez comes with too much baggage.
After Scoop’s final column ran in the Bulletin, it finally sunk in that that I was the victim of a cowardly, passive-aggressive offload. Joey didn’t even have the decency to do it face-to-face. He’s taking his cue from Scoop, and that somehow makes this more humiliating.
Well, if he can be this callous, he’s not the guy for me. Soul mates don’t bolt at the first sign of trouble. My hypothesis has been disproved. All a kiss can reveal is whether a guy has good oral hygiene.
“Relationships are never easy,” Mr. Sparling says. “Are you doing all right?”
I nod. What else am I going to say? That I’m devastated? That I can’t believe I’ve gone from no B to Forever B to Ex-B in the space of three months? I may admit this to Izzy and Rachel but not Mr. Sparling.
He looks relieved, in the way Dan always looks relieved when I refuse to talk about girl stuff. “There are plenty of fish in the sea, Luisa, and you’re really too young to get serious anyway. When I met Mrs. Sparling, I—”
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“That isn’t going to help.”
He smiles, rolling with it as always. The best teachers are pretty hard to offend, I’ve discovered. Dealing with people like me all day toughens them up.
Dan pulls up in front of the Harold Washington Library Center and cuts the engine on his SUV. “Last stop, ladies.”
Solana continues to fumble through her purse, clearly in no hurry to go inside. I’m not sure whether she’s really forgotten something or is just nervous.
“Did you bring your speech?” I ask. I printed a copy on note cards, and Grace delivered it to her two days ago. They went for coffee, and I wasn’t even jealous. It helps that my brain has been so busy mulling over every detail of my failed romance.
She nods. “But I wish I were just singing today.”
“You’re going to knock ’em dead,” I reassure her. She certainly looks the part of a VIP, in her funky suit and stiletto boots. “You were perfect in our run-through.”
“But that wasn’t in front of a crowd—a crowd that includes teachers who thought I was stupid.”
“I bet they’re ashamed of letting you fall through the cracks. Mr. Sparling feels bad about what happened with Grace. If he’d handled it differently, she might not have dropped out.”
“I don’t know,” Solana says thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s better to let things work out in their own time. I wouldn’t be leaving on my first tour next week if I’d stayed in school.”
“And we wouldn’t have as good a chance to win the Literacy Challenge,” I say.
Dunfield is still in second place behind Turnbull and ahead of Warwick, but the proceeds from the Fun Fair helped close the gap to five grand. Today, guests at the gala will be depositing checks in drop boxes at the door, and while bands from each school entertain the crowd, the teachers will tabulate the final results. Then the mayor of Chicago will announce a winner and invite Scoop and Newshound to say a few words and introduce the speakers and performers.
“So the dropout with the learning disability might win the literacy competition for the school that exiled her,” Solana says. “It’s ironic, isn’t it?”
“It’s not ironic,” Dan says, turning in his seat. “It’s downright poetic.”
The rear door opens, and Grace slides in beside Solana. She’s wearing a long-sleeved black sweater and black pants, and there’s not a bit of ink showing. “Lu, you can’t sit out here chatting,” she says. “People might figure out that it’s Newshound with her special guest.”
She hands Solana a bag containing a compact, tissues, lip gloss, a pen, a small bottle of water, and a stack of promotional postcards for her CD.
“You’ve thought of everything,” Solana says.
Grace beams as she climbs out of the truck. “It’s easier to keep your cool when you’re fully prepared. I even got the Center’s piano tuned and billed it to Dunfield.”
“Is she always this organized?” Solana asks when Grace is gone.
“Beats me,” I say, realizing I don’t know my sister as well as I thought.
Dan hops out, opens Solana’s door, and offers her his arm.
Once he’s escorted her into the Library Center, he returns for me. “You look very nice today,” he says as we walk to the door. “I’m going to have to beat that Joey off with a stick.”
“Actually, he won’t be here.”
“You did ask him.” It’s more a statement than a question.
“I haven’t seen him. In case you haven’t heard, Paz decided we should take a breather.”
Dan isn’t easily thrown off the trail. “Joey does know you’re Newshound.”
Another statement. “Not exactly.”
“Luisa, I may not know much about romance, but I can say for sure that what you sweep under the rug tends to come back and bite you in the butt.”
“If Joey can’t handle some flak from Grace and Paz, he definitely can’t handle hearing about the column, Dan.”
Dan’s expression is shaded by his cowboy hat, but I can tell he’s disappointed in me. “Joey’s a nice guy,” he says. “He’d have come around.”
There it is: the past tense. Even Dan thinks we’re history.
More than four hundred people are milling in the lobby, including teachers and student reps from all three schools, friends and families, business people and community members. Judging by all the cameras and notepads I see, the press has come out in full force. That has less to do with literacy than with the presence of high-profile guests. Turnbull and Warwick have recruited an artist, an entrepreneur, a football player, and a cellist from the Philharmonic. They’re all good scores, but not as good as Solana.
I’m so glad the event is taking place here, and not in a grungy school auditorium. The organizers have created a makeshift stage beneath a mosaic mural that depicts the life of Harold Washington, the city’s first African American mayor. Maroon velvet curtains hang from either side, creating two “backstage” areas. Midstage is a wide podium wired with two microphones, and behind that a grand piano.
Seeing those mikes makes me nervous, but not as nervous as I expected to be. Here again, a broken heart keeps you from getting caught up in the small stuff, such as stage fright.
Mrs. Alvarez looks fantastic in a black dress and high heels. Her hair, normally restrained in a bun, is blown out in a smooth shoulder-length bob that makes the gray slice all the more striking. As I watch, she walks away from a man in a wheelchair and joins my mother and sister. The expression on Grace’s face is a combination of disgust and terror, but when Mrs. Alvarez rests her hand on Grace’s shoulder, she doesn’t shrug it off.
In one corner of the lobby, Turnbull’s jazz band strikes up, the signal for teachers and the mayor’s staff to disappear into an office with the drop boxes.
Rachel and Izzy emerge from the crowd to join Dan and me. Izzy’s hair has turned a rich mahogany since I saw her yesterday. It’s the first sign that she’s getting over Carson; I can only hope I recover as quickly.
“We’ve been scouting the competition,” Izzy says. “Tyler is hanging around that Chicago Bulls player along with Mac and the rest of the jocks.
“Nervous?” Rachel asks.
I nod. “I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of the media.”
“You won’t,” Izzy assures me. “Besides, they’ve got all the fool footage they need.”
She points to the three cameras currently trained on Mariah, who has managed to cut Solana off from the herd and is auditioning a new routine for her. Solana’s eyes widen and she looks around for help.
I start to walk over, but I don’t get far before Grace swoops down on Mariah. She gives her a glare that would be followed with
a good slap if the cameras weren’t rolling. Instead, she leads Solana away.
A few minutes later, Mr. Sparling arrives to take me to the wings. Solana and some other guests are already there. Beyond the curtain, the mayor is calling for silence.
“It’s showtime,” I say to Solana. “Do you still have your speech?”
She holds up her note cards. “Do you have yours?”
“I memorized it.” My voice is higher than usual, betraying my nerves.
Mrs. Alvarez turns and shushes me before stepping out on the stage.
Over the microphone, the mayor is welcoming the guests and praising the city’s public school system for raising nearly a million dollars in the Literacy Challenge. I squeeze Solana’s hand and find it’s just as sweaty as mine.
“The three schools we’re honoring today have outshone all others,” he says as the applause subsides. “I stand here with three very proud—and dare I say surprised?—principals.” A laugh ripples through the audience. “Warwick Central, Colonel Dunfield High, and the Turnbull Academy each raised close to two hundred thousand dollars for this very special cause. For a while it looked like we might have a three-way tie, but thanks to some generous donations this afternoon, my staff informs me that one school has clearly taken the lead.” There’s a rustling as the mayor opens an envelope. “Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to announce that the winner of The Literacy Challenge is… Colonel Dunfield High!”
A good portion of the crowd erupts into cheers, but even more groan. There are boos and demands for a recount.
“Now, now,” the mayor says. “Dunfield won the vacation fair and square. But I’m so proud of Warwick and Turnbull students that I’m going to give them a prize too.” He waits for the murmur of excitement to abate and announces, “I’m sure you’ll be proud to display this fine plaque at your schools.”
Solana and I snicker as even more booing ensues.
The mayor moves on hastily. “It’s now my privilege to introduce you to two spirited young columnists from Colonel Dunfield, whose friendly sparring helped put their school into the winner’s circle. ‘The Word’ is now syndicated in five—”
“Six!” a familiar voice rings out, provoking another laugh.
“My apologies, Principal Alvarez,” the mayor says with a chuckle. “The column appears in six school papers and online. Without further ado, I present today’s hosts: Newshound and Scoop!”
As the crowd cheers, Solana gives me a gentle shove and wishes me luck.
I push through the curtains and step onto the stage, blinking in the bright spotlights. Before my eyes adjust I start walking toward the podium. I make out a guy approaching from the other side. He has a familiar gait, familiar hair, and broad shoulders. If I could focus I’d see two crooked fingers.
My feet stop of their own accord. What is Joey doing here? Did he come to surprise me? If so, why is he onstage? My mind races but doesn’t come to any reasonable conclusions.
Mrs. Alvarez takes my arm. “Come and meet your fellow columnist, Luisa.” My shoes actually skid across the wooden floor as she pulls me toward the podium. “Joseph Carella, meet Luisa Perez.”
Joey stares at me, and I notice his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. I stare back at him, still trying to process what I’m seeing.
Finally Mariah’s voice breaks the silence. “Oh my God! Coconut is the Newshound!”
A murmur travels through the audience. Mrs. Alvarez’s head swivels from me to Joey and back, and then she initiates damage control. “I know you two have had your differences, but you wrote in the spirit of fun, right?”
“Fun,” Joey echoes.
“Fun?” I repeat.
“Yes, fun,” Mrs. Alvarez says firmly. “Now shake hands and let’s move on with our program.”
Neither Joey nor I make a move, so Mrs. Alvarez takes my hand. Then she grabs Joey’s and pulls it toward mine. Each of us leans back, trying not to touch.
“Don’t be silly,” she whispers. “Hundreds of people are waiting. Do I need to remind you you’re representing Dunfield now?”
The spotlight is making me hot and dizzy, and I look up at my principal desperately. “We were… together,” I choke out. “He said I was easy.”
Joey finds his voice too. “And she made me out to be a—”
“Eunuch,” Mac Landis supplies. “With a small—”
“Mr. Landis,” Mrs. Alvarez says. “Keep your mouth closed.”
There’s laughter throughout the lobby, and I realize that the microphones are broadcasting the entire drama. Still, I speak to Joey directly. “I was trying to make you sound nice, whereas you told the world you got me into bed.”
“You go, Coco-slut!” Mariah says, louder now. “Way to carry on the family tradition!”
I turn to see her pretending to rock a baby in her arms. Standing just behind Mariah is my mother, whose mouth drops open in shock.
“Mariah Mendes,” Mrs. Alvarez begins, “I would like you to leave.”
“But she lied to all of—”
The last word is cut off as a hand appears on Mariah’s shoulder and yanks her backward. I see Grace’s blond head, some thrashing, and suddenly Mariah is gone.
Tears sting my eyes as I glance from my mother’s face back to Joey’s. My stomach heaves, and I know if I don’t leave now I am going to add to my humiliation by throwing up, fainting, or both.
“Luisa,” Mrs. Alvarez calls after me as I hurry toward the wings on Joey’s side of the stage. “Come back.”
“I can’t,” I say, “I hate him!”
Seconds later I’m out the front door and running through the parking lot, the December wind freezing the tears on my cheeks.
I open the door quietly and creep into the darkened apartment.
The light switches on, and I stop, caught in the spotlight for the second time today.
My mother is sitting alone on the sofa, and she doesn’t look happy. “Luisa, I was worried to death about you. I thought you were running around without a coat or dime on you, but I see you haven’t frozen to death.”
I’m wearing Dan’s old plaid jacket over my halter dress. “Dan left his car unlocked. There was enough change in the ashtray for bus fare and coffee.”
Mom sighs. “But not enough for a pay phone?”
“I’m sorry. I should have called, but I lost track of time.”
“Well, Grace is covering your shift at Dan’s.”
I’ve never missed a single shift, not even for illness, but today I completely forgot. “Aren’t you supposed to work tonight, too?”
“I couldn’t go anywhere until I knew you were all right.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I repeat. “I’ll make up the money by taking extra shifts.”
“It’s not about the money, Lu.” She pats the sofa beside her, and I sit down. “Today’s event wasn’t my proudest parenting moment. I got all dressed up to watch my girl host a big gala, and instead I saw her run off the stage when the going got tough.”
I’m shocked that she can be so cold. “Mom, in case you didn’t pick this up, Scoop was Joey. My boyfriend. What else could I do?”
“Well, as Grace would say, you could suck it up. You had an anonymous column. You wrote some edgy things. He wrote some edgy things. But all masks come off eventually, and you have to face up to what you’ve said.”
“I didn’t say anything bad,” I say, crossing my arms.
“You don’t think so, but from where I stood, Joey had another take on it.”
“Well, he told six schools he’d hooked up with me.”
Her hand on my shoulder tightens. “Did he?”
“Hook up with me? No.”
“Are you sure?”
I slide away from her on the couch. This is my time of need, and it’s not fair to interrogate about something that can never happen now anyway. “I think I’d remember that.”
“My point is, you don’t want to get into that situation too soon—at least until
you get to know the real person behind the column.”
“Joey and I are through. And I’m not stupid, Mom.”
“I know that, but I also know how easy it is to get carried away. I made that mistake with your father—as Mariah kindly pointed out today.”
“I hate her almost as much as Joey.”
“Well, she might think twice next time, thanks to Grace. At least no one got arrested.”
I slide back toward her, and she puts her arm around me again. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you like that,” I say.
“I just want you to have all the opportunities I never had, Lu. Don’t throw your future away on a boy.”
At the moment it’s hardly a risk, but I am beginning to understand why my mother has never had a boyfriend and continues to avoid online dating. When I look at Paz, Joey, Carson, and Jason, it’s difficult to believe guys are worth the trouble.
“What happened after I left?” I ask, hoping that Joey was so racked by remorse that he gave an impassioned speech about me.
“Joey left the stage, too. And when Mrs. Alvarez called on Solana to give her speech, she’d also disappeared.”
“Oh, no!”
“Grace caught up with Solana, and she apparently said that if you weren’t committed enough to stay, she wasn’t going to put herself out there either.”
“That’s terrible. Solana could have done so much good with her speech. I’ve let everyone down.”
The Chicago Bulls star Joey enlisted also left before speaking, but Mom isn’t sure what happened after that, because she set off to look for me. “Rachel and Izzy will be able to fill you in, because I insisted that they stay.”
We sit in silence for a while, and then I ask, “What time is your shift tomorrow?”
“Late enough for me to make sure you get to school.”
“Since when do you worry about my attendance?”
“Since I have reason to worry.”
Chapter 18
Rising rhythm and blues singer Solana G. deserted hundreds of fans at the Harold Washington Library Center yesterday. Ms. G. was set to perform on behalf of Colonel Dunfield High, one of 120 schools competing in the citywide Literacy Challenge.
B006K5TA1E EBOK Page 22
