Once we’re in the hallway and out of earshot, Brick groans and says, “Sampson’s gonna be so tough.”
“What’s her deal?” I ask.
“She figures if you’re in this class, you’d better be ready to do college-level work.”
“Perfect,” I say and mean it. Brick shoots me an amused glance. He’s never seen this hardcore side of me.
“Oh, and I’ve heard she hates it when students are late,” he warns. “So be careful.”
“I’m never late,” I assure him.
“Knew there was a reason I liked you,” Brick says.
We walk briskly toward the cafeteria, where Chloe is waiting. “She looks happy,” Brick whispers.
“Chloe!” I call out. Her face lights up at the sight of us, and she half-skips over. I decide I’m going to have to talk to her about all this skipping.
“Hey guys, how’s everything going?” Before we can answer, she gushes. “I can’t believe I’m in high school! You’re right, Brick. It’s so much better than junior high. I mean, even the classes seem more interesting. Also, score! My homeroom teacher, Mr. Cavanaugh, is super cute.”
“Try to keep your priorities straight,” Brick chides light-heartedly and bumps Chloe’s elbow.
“I totally am.” She elbows him back. “Hot teachers, new friends, and much better food options,” she says with a sniff and a dreamy glance over at the deli counter.
“Beats kale, at least,” Brick mumbles.
As we maneuver through the cafeteria, several people slap Brick a high five or call hello to him. He introduces me and Chloe to a couple of his friends, and I realize that I might have to tone down my attitude. I don’t want to mess things up for Brick by association. Or for Chloe.
“So how was your morning?” Chloe asks as we find an empty table. To my surprise, Brick sits down next to me and across from Chloe as if he’s planning to stay.
“Well, I don’t know about the rest of her classes, but Andrea made quite an impression in trig,” Brick teases.
Ignoring him, I pull out my bagged lunch and start setting out my food.
Chloe’s eyes flash from me to Brick and back again. “What do you mean? Because she’s so smart? You probably blew everyone out of the water, huh?”
“Something like that,” I respond coolly while Brick shakes his head and smothers a grin. “Chloe, do you want some pretzels?” I ask, changing the subject.
“No, thanks,” she says. “I’m buying today. I’ll be right back.” She jumps up and makes a beeline for the salad bar.
“She’s going to be disappointed. The food’s not that great,” says Brick. “Thank God she’s having a good day, though.” As he pulls a sandwich and thermos out of his backpack, his eyes follow Chloe protectively. I can’t help feeling protective as well. She looks like a baby kangaroo hopping from one spot to another, all smiles.
“What happened with her last year? She never said,” I ask Brick, my eyes still trailing my friend.
“Typical mean-girl stuff. She was at a slumber party and got blamed for talking trash about someone. Chloe said she wasn’t even in the room when it all started flying around—which is probably why they pinned it on her. Anyway, the rumors went viral and the victim set out to make Chloe’s life hell,” he explains ruefully. “I guess it got pretty nasty.”
A vision of that blonde girl from Walmart pops into my head. Now I’m even happier that I doused her purse with Sprite.
“Didn’t Chloe tell anyone what was happening?” I ask. She and Brick seem so close.
He frowns. “She didn’t want to burden us. It was my first year here and everyone was focused on me and my transition. Her folks and I heard bits and pieces, but we didn’t know how bad it was until her grades tanked.” Brick takes a huge bite of sandwich and looks away, and I get the hint that he’s done talking about it.
“Junior high sucks,” is all I say.
It’s not all I feel, though. I keep picturing sweet little Chloe, who wouldn’t kill a moth, hiding in the school bathrooms, waiting until the halls emptied out before wiping her tears and heading home. I imagine her trying to appear normal in front of her family after being tormented by her classmates day after day. I’m not nearly as fragile as Chloe, but even I feel overwhelmed by my situation sometimes. Like Charlie hijacking my first kiss. Or being forced to deal with low-life druggies on a daily basis. Or owing Judd hundreds of dollars for no reason. The injustice of it all is maddening. How can there be pure souls like Chloe sharing space in this world with despicable human beings like Judd? It’s not right.
By the time the three of us depart for our next round of classes, my insides are simmering so hot it feels like my organs are on fire. Musical Masters and gym are a shared block, alternating days of the week. Today I have gym. It’s my last class, and we’re playing dodge ball. Which is perfect, because I totally feel like throwing something.
Chapter 27
Brick is right about Ms. Sampson, except that calling her “tough” is like calling a killer shark “moody.” She doesn’t explain the classroom rules (they’re available on her website), she adores pop quizzes, and she appears to enjoy making our heads spin. After Ms. Sampson’s second-day speech about how only the top four students will receive an A—a fact she seems proud of—I vow to ace every homework assignment, quiz, and test. I will be in that top four. Because the first step to getting a full ride to the Ivy League is having straight A’s, no matter what high school I attend.
The rest of my classes are pretty much a cake-walk, but teachers at Belmont give more busywork than they did at Essex, and it cuts deeply into my already scant free time. Still, I spend every unscheduled moment hanging out with my new friends since I know that ride could end any minute.
They’re an interesting pair. Where Chloe is an open book, Brick is one big contradiction. He enjoys a healthy social life with his classmates, but I can tell he keeps some distance, both physically and emotionally. He rotates his way around the lunch room each week, sometimes eating with me and Chloe, other days sitting with random groups of seniors. Never the same ones twice. I wonder why he’s like that, so noncommittal, when any one of those cliques would happily claim him. But I know better than to ask personal questions.
Chloe is nice to everyone, so it seems like she already has a hundred new friends—or at least acquaintances—but for some reason she prefers my company. Maybe she’s still wary after what happened last year, although those mean girls seem to have dropped their crusade. Selfishly, I’m glad Chloe likes hanging out with me best. All in all, life at Belmont isn’t so dreadful.
Life at Judd’s is a different story.
His demands are increasing and his patience is close to extinct. He doesn’t tell me this, but I’m pretty sure Judd is expanding his business. The Saturday deliveries take longer than ever, and we often return home midday to reload supplies. I do what I’m told, always afraid he’ll take school away from me again, despite what Ayla says about the inheritance checks being tied to my enrollment.
One moonless night in September, I wake to find Judd standing over my bed. It’s chilling to open my eyelids and see his gristly face looming, knowing he entered my room and I didn’t even hear him. Instinctively, I open my mouth to scream. Before I can draw a full breath, his tobacco-laced fingers are on top of my lips and he’s hissing, “Shut up or I’ll knock your teeth up your nose.”
I shut up.
When he removes his hand, I pull the covers up to my chin, even though I’ve never really been afraid of Judd in that way. He instructs me to get up, dress in black clothing, and meet him downstairs. That night, we make three trips from the cellar to the shed in the cover of darkness, carrying the canisters silently through the woods. They are cumbersome and heavy with their toppings of rock salt, and Judd warns me not to spill any. All the muscles in my arms quiver, but I don’t drop a thing. It�
��s not until I collapse back into bed a few hours past midnight that I think about the date. September 15. My birthday.
After school that day, I find Judd’s cellar filled with a large shipment of new goods—clothing, small appliances, children’s toys—indicating an increase in distribution. Boxes are stacked high against the walls. Even though it’s a Wednesday, I’m put directly to work. For three evenings straight, I rip the lining out of bomber jackets, stuff the drug-filled baggies inside, then sew them up. It’s not easy to sew through leather with a needle, and my fingertips are soon red and raw. My eyes start to match them because I’m up until dawn finishing my homework.
The moral implications of what I’m doing with Judd continue to creep in. How many people, how many teenagers at some out-of-hand party, will become addicted like Ayla? How many lives are we ruining?
To complicate matters, Ayla is acting like my new best friend. She curls up on the couch while I’m studying and plays with my hair, tries to persuade me to sneak a little off the top of Judd’s canisters. As if I would risk my own life for her nasty habit! If I were going to steal cocaine from Judd, I would sell it on the side to pay back my debt—not slip it to Ayla. Still, I accept her soft, motherly touches for what they’re worth.
There is only so much of me to go around. Soon Chloe questions why I can’t hang out, why I spend so many lunch periods in the library. I explain that I’m swamped with schoolwork and leave it at that. Brick offers to do some of my trig problems, but I’d never let him. I’m going to escape from Haydon, from Judd and the whole hellishness of my adolescence, on my terms. On my own. I refuse to owe anyone anything.
Brick seems to understand this—and my evasiveness—better than Chloe, who acts hurt when I brush her off. But I always save Sundays for her. On Sunday, Judd is too tired to care about work, and too busy enjoying his profits to terrorize me.
So it has become a ritual for Chloe and I to meet at the pond and watch the sun begin its day. She never brings Brick to our sunrise meetings, but sometimes we go back to her house later and cajole him into spending the afternoon with us. He refuses to swim in the pond—says the water looks foul—so we ambush him, try to drag him in. Of course, we’re no match for his strength. In the end, Chloe and I jump back in while Brick stays dry, skipping rocks. Sometimes we get pizza or see a movie. When I explain that I can’t pay, Brick shoves me in jest and says he wouldn’t let me anyway. He’s a Southern gentleman, after all.
One Sunday I walk into Judd’s living room after a blissful day with my friends to find Ayla stretched across the floor, moaning in ecstasy and staring at the ceiling like some hottie is up there performing a striptease. Judd must have given her a topper.
As I step over her twiggy form, Judd says, “Get over here, Bones. I got somethin’ for you.” He’s holding a box. Full of surprises today.
Inside is a cell phone that’s meant to dial one number only—his. “Keep it on at all times,” he says gruffly. “Whenever I text, call me back within two minutes, or else.”
I look at the little black phone with loathing and ask, “Or else what?”
His answer is a hard smack to my head. “That, times ten.”
I hate this new phone. My two lives are now intersecting. On Thursday, as I’m heading to trig, I feel the vibration in my pocket so I duck into the girls’ bathroom and dial Judd’s number.
“Not fast enough,” he growls.
I sigh. He’s been testing me randomly over the past week and I seem to be failing.
“What do you want?” I ask impatiently. I can’t be late.
“I want you to do as you’re told, and call me back within two goddamn minutes!”
“I did! I just got the text.”
“Don’t argue with me, girl.” His tone shuts me up.
After an agonizingly long pause, Judd says, “Need you here after school today. Don’t forget.”
I want to snip, Do I ever? But that would probably constitute arguing. So I simply say, “I won’t.”
After hanging up, I sprint down the hall and walk into trig just as the bell stops ringing. I think I’m in the clear until Ms. Sampson strides over and hands me a slip of yellow paper.
“What’s this?” I ask, shocked.
“Students must be seated in my class before the bell rings, Miss Hathaway,” she says curtly.
I take the paper from her, crumpling it up as I plunk into my chair. I don’t even care how she reacts. I’m never late and I’m one of her best students—that should count for something.
“Hey, cool it,” Brick warns quietly. “You’ll make it worse.”
I whip my head around angrily, but the sincere look of concern on his face melts the fight out of me. He’s only trying to help. “You’re right. I just can’t do detention today. I have to work.”
“Work? Where do you—?”
His words fizzle as Ms. Sampson strides down the aisle toward us and slaps a detention slip onto his desk. “Awfully chatty, Mr. Mason. You can join Miss Hathaway after school.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles and leans back in his seat.
While class resumes, I un-crumple my paper and write a note on the back, Sorry I got u in trouble. But…Brick MASON? Didn’t know your last name. Funny.
When he reads it, he snickers softly and sneaks a look at me. Encouraged, I write, Do you come from a long line of stoneworkers or something?
Brick smiles at my joke, but a faraway look has crept into his eyes.
Just kidding! I scribble, feeling terrible. It’s a nice name. Perfect for a Southern boy.
On his own detention slip, he scrawls, It’s OK. It is a funny name. Not upset with you.
But I don’t believe him. Maybe no one else would see it, but I’m better than most at reading facial expressions—a survival skill. Then I remember that I don’t know anything about his parents or why he’s living with his aunt and uncle, and feel like an idiot. I never should have mentioned his family.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, abandoning the notes.
“Yeah. Perfectly fine,” he whispers back, but he’s a terrible liar. Still, I won’t press him. I know the signs for “back off.” I invented half of them.
I turn toward the front of the room, but it’s too late. Ms. Sampson is already standing between our desks. “Since the two of you have no interest in class today, you may now take your conversation to the principal’s office.” She dismisses us with a flick of her wrist.
Ever the gentleman, Brick apologizes to Ms. Sampson as we pack up and shuffle out of the room. In a state of shock, I follow Brick’s shoes down the hall. I’ve never been kicked out of class. I’ve certainly never been sent to the principal’s office for being disruptive! I have seen the kids that frequent the office, though, slouching so low in their chairs they might as well be sitting on the ground. I wonder what happens once they go through the door. Can a principal dock your grade for bad behavior?
Noticing that I’ve fallen behind, Brick makes his way back to me. “Relax, Andrea. Everything will be fine.” I look at him skeptically. “Unless we take too long getting there,” he says and links his arm through mine, pulling me along.
I must still look dubious because he smiles. “I didn’t think anything ruffled your feathers.”
“It doesn’t,” I retort, yanking my arm free and walking faster. Brick laughs softly behind me.
It’s the assistant principal who takes care of discipline problems, but that doesn’t make this any less terrifying. At least we are called in together. That helps. It also helps that Mr. Greeley seems nice and apparently knows Brick.
“Okay, what happened?” he asks, reclining in his chair.
“We were just talking for a minute,” Brick explains. “Ms. Sampson didn’t even give us a warning.”
Mr. Greeley chuckles a little and says, “No, I bet she didn’t.” Then he turns t
o me. “Andrea. How are things going for you here at Belmont? Everything okay?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry about this. It won’t happen again.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” he says, frowning. “New school, new rules…it’s not an easy transition. Eh, Brick?”
“No, sir,” Brick agrees sheepishly.
Mr. Greeley turns to me again. “When I pulled your file, I noticed that we don’t have a phone number on record for you. Your mother must have missed that line on the registration form,” he says, peering at his computer screen.
Phone number? Is he planning to call? Ayla won’t answer. But Judd might, and then what? He might not care at all, or he might be furious that I brought attention to myself. He might forbid me from going to school, despite what Ayla said about my enrollment being a condition of Gram’s trust. Or he might decide that I need some discipline. His variety.
“No, it’s not a mistake,” I explain, flustered by this whole day. “We don’t have a phone.”
Both Brick and the assistant principal stare at me as though I’ve sprouted a third ear. “No phone at all? Are you pulling my leg?” Mr. Greeley asks.
“No, sir. It’s…a religious thing. My mother doesn’t believe in technology, really. She’s very different,” I say with just the proper balance of tolerance and irritation.
Mr. Greeley raises an eyebrow. “Huh. Well, since you two aren’t exactly troublemakers, I’ll let you off with a warning. Just don’t let me see you in here again.”
Brick and I take our time going back to class, since neither of us is in any hurry to deal with Ms. Sampson. We sit down in the hall to kill a few minutes. “No phone?” Brick nudges me. “Can’t believe he let you off after that lie.”
“He believed me,” I insist, but Brick just laughs.
“He did not believe you, Andrea. I know Mr. Greeley—he and my uncle grew up together. They play golf and poker on the weekends. Ten bucks says the two of them are laughing about this by nightfall.”
All Out of Pretty Page 14
