This is a new low, even for Briana. I guess this is her way of getting back at me after what happened with Caitlin. Pulling off her worst prank yet as some kind of last hurrah. There’s no way to clean up all the glass, not without cutting myself a million times in the process.
Still, I have no choice but to at least try. But first, I want to get the snooping over with. Then I’ll deal with the impossible glass problem.
I crunch over to Briana’s desk and look through it one more time. I don’t know where Steve found the note, but I don’t see anything else. Then I notice that the door to the walk-in closet is open. Ever since that first day when Briana found me going through her things, she’s kept her closet tightly shut. Maybe she’s hiding something in there?
I go inside the closet and look around for anything that could be a hiding spot. After a minute, my eyes fall on the rows of Briana’s bras, and I remember what Caitlin said to her in the hallway.
As I get closer, I notice that even Briana’s sports bras are hung up, which is beyond weird. When I hold up one of the lacy bras, I realize it doesn’t have regular padding. Instead, the bra is heavy and stiff, and the fabric is much firmer than foam. When I inspect the sports bras, I find the same kind of padding sewn into them.
It takes me a minute to believe what I’m seeing, but there’s no other explanation. Briana Riley stuffs her bra! Of course, she does it in the rich-kid way: she has bras specially made for her so that no one will suspect. Ever since the first day of sixth grade, all the girls have been jealous of Briana’s perfect chest and the attention it gets from guys. And all this time, it’s been a fake. No wonder Briana was so ready to apologize when Caitlin threatened to expose her secret.
How’s that for an entry in the Dirt Diary?
What’ll happen if everyone at school finds out the truth? My mind swirls with the possibilities. But then I realize I can’t tell anyone, because if I do, then I’ll be just as bad as Briana or Angela. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that secrets make me feel like scum.
I put the bra back where I found it and go back to searching. I finally give up on the closet, and my eyes fall on the TV stand in the corner. In my rush last time, I didn’t check there.
There’s nothing behind the TV, but when I open a drawer that’s supposed to be for movies, there’s a jewelry box staring back at me. I carefully lift it out and open it. There are only a few things inside. A silver heart necklace, a matching bracelet, and a couple of greeting cards. I open one of the cards and hit the jackpot. It’s a note from Kurt, telling Briana how special she is and how he hopes she’ll finally dump Steve for him.
I’m just deciding whether or not to pocket the note to show Steve when I hear someone clear his throat behind me.
I jump up and see Evan standing in the doorway.
“Evan, hi,” I say, still holding the jewelry box. I can’t imagine how guilty I must look.
“What are you doing?” he says, unsmiling.
“Um. Well, it’s kind of a long story. But it’s not what it looks like, not really.”
“What it looks like is that you’re going through my sister’s stuff. Is that not what you’re doing?”
“Er. Okay, kind of. But it’s for a good reason.” My body suddenly feels hot and jittery, like I’ve just sprinted a mile. “You see, her boyfriend was afraid she was cheating on him, so he paid me to look around her room.”
“He paid you?”
“Well, at first. But then I said I’d do it for free.” Oh no. This is sounding worse and worse. “I’m not doing a very good job of explaining, but—”
“I came in here once, and it looked like you were going through Briana’s drawers, but I told myself that I was just being paranoid. I mean, why would you be doing that? But here you are again. And now I find out you’ve been doing it for a while.”
The jitteriness is so bad now that my teeth are actually chattering. “Evan, I’m sorry. It was just—”
“I think you should be apologizing to Briana, not me.” He shakes his head. “I don’t get it. I mean, I was really starting to like you. I was even jealous that someone else had asked you to the dance.”
I take a step back, and the carpet crunches under my foot. The jitters fade, replaced by a strange warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. “You were?” I say. “But I thought you had a girlfriend.”
He frowns. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Who told you that?”
“Well, I saw that picture on your computer—”
“You were on my computer?”
“No!” Why is it that no matter what I say, it just sounds bad?
“The girl in the picture is my cousin. She goes to my school,” says Evan. Then he shakes his head, like he can’t make sense of what’s happening. “Briana warned me that first day. She said you couldn’t be trusted. I didn’t want to believe her, but now I don’t know what to think.”
“Evan, I’m really sorry. I swear, I can explain.”
He won’t look at me. “I think you should probably just go.”
“But—”
“Please, Rachel.”
It’s no use. He hates me. I want to cry, but instead I shove the jewelry box back in its hiding place and close the drawer. Then I crunch my way toward the door.
“Is that glass on the floor?” Evan asks.
“Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”
But suddenly Mom is in the doorway. “No, you won’t. That’s ridiculous. You can’t be expected to clean up something like that! It’s unsafe.” She turns to Evan. “Tell your mother that we’re very sorry, but that she’ll have to get someone else to take care of this mess. Come on, Rachel.”
Mom takes my hand, and I’m glad to let her lead me downstairs. I don’t even bother looking back.
As we pack up the car, my head is ringing like a giant bell. “Are we going to lose this job?” I ask.
Mom shrugs. “Maybe. But I am sick of Mrs. Riley’s attitude. And if they expect us to clean up hazardous materials, then I say good riddance. I think you were right about us taking this job, honey. It was a bad idea from the start.”
“But what about the other jobs? If Mrs. Riley spreads the word, won’t other people fire us?”
“I was worried about that at first, but Ms. Montelle is a well-respected woman in this town, and she happens to be a big fan of ours. I think we’ll be fine. And if people do give us a hard time, we’ll just travel a little farther for work. There are dirty houses everywhere.” She smiles, and I can’t help feeling relieved. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. Because thinking about how betrayed Evan looked is about all the pain I can handle.
Chapter 40
When it’s time for our usual lunch break, I expect Mom to grab some sandwiches from a cooler so we can eat them in the car. Not that I’m hungry. Everything that happened with Evan has filled my stomach with rocks.
Instead, Mom drives into town and pulls up in front of Molly’s Diner.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“I think we could both use a treat,” she says, opening the car door.
As I stare out the window at the cheerful Molly’s sign, my body refuses to move.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asks, realizing I’m not following her.
“I don’t want to go in there. That was our place, when we were still a family. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”
“I know things are different.” Mom leans back in her seat. “But does that mean we can’t do any of the old things anymore?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It just feels wrong to come here without Dad.”
Mom puts her hand on top of mine. It feels warm and reassuring. I realize this is the most honest I’ve been with her in forever, besides the times when I’ve lost it and screamed at her.
“How about we give it a try?” she
says. “If it’s terrible, we’ll leave and go somewhere else. I promise.”
That sounds reasonable, even if I’m still not thrilled about it. Besides, Mom is clearly making an effort to make me feel better, even after I lied to her and went behind her back. I owe it to her to at least try.
When we go inside, the familiar smells of coffee and maple syrup hit me like a slap. I have to swallow the tears that threaten to leak down my cheeks. I’m about to tell Mom that I can’t do this, that we have to go, when she wraps her fingers around mine. Suddenly, I feel like a little kid again, safe and warm.
Before I know it, we’re seated at a tiny table in the corner, far from our usual spot, and Mom is ordering two hot chocolates.
“Are you okay?” she asks after the waitress goes to get our drinks.
I nod, realizing that, surprisingly, I am okay. It still feels strange to be here without Dad, but Molly’s has been my favorite place for as long as I can remember. Being here brings a little bit of comfort with it, even if it also brings up painful memories.
“Now, what are we going to order?” Mom asks, grabbing a menu.
I have to laugh. “We’ve only been getting the exact same thing for like ten years.”
She smiles and pushes the menu away. “Good. Now that that’s decided, we’ll have more time to talk.”
“Talk?” I say, thinking of all the awkward dinner conversations we’ve had since Dad left.
“I know you and your father were always close,” she says. “And I have to tell you that I’ve always been a little jealous of that. I always wished that we were able to open up to each other the way you and your father could. Now that it’s just you and me, I want us to find a way to talk to one another.”
I blink. Never in a million years did I think my mom was jealous of my relationship with my dad. She’s always seemed too uptight to join in our silly games and our bad jokes. But now that I think about it, maybe she was just always too stressed out trying to keep our family together to be able to loosen up.
“Me too,” I say.
“Okay, then talk to me,” says Mom. “I know you’ve been miserable this year. I could tell something was wrong even before your father left. What’s been going on?”
My instinct is to shrug it off and tell her it’s nothing, but the truth is, I want to find a way to make her understand what I’ve been going through. “First, you have to promise me you won’t try to fix anything.”
“Fix anything?” she repeats. “What do you mean?”
“It’s my problem, and I’ll find a solution, okay?”
Mom takes in a deep breath and then nods. “Okay.”
So I start telling her about everything that’s happened since the start of the year, about Fake Boyfriend Troy, about Briana and Caitlin, and even about Steve Mueller. Before I know it, I’m even telling her about Evan Riley! I have to look down at my napkin as my cheeks burn with embarrassment, but I don’t hold anything back. The only thing I don’t mention is the Dirt Diary. It feels wrong to talk about secrets that aren’t mine.
When I’m done talking, I glance up expecting to find Mom judging everything I just told her, but instead she’s smiling gently, her eyes glistening.
“Thank you for trusting me,” she says. “And if there’s anything you need, any way that I can help, just tell me, okay? That’s what I’m here for.”
I nod, knowing that she means it. It’s up to me to fix all the things I messed up, but it’s still nice that Mom genuinely wants to help. Not because she’s dying to butt in and take over my life, but because she really wants me to be happy.
The waitress comes back with our orders, which gives Mom a chance to wipe her eyes. As I glance down at my Nutella and banana crepe, my stomach rumbles so loudly that even my mom hears it across the table.
She laughs as she bites into her own crepe, which is filled with apples and brie.
“You know,” I say as I dig into my food. “There is one thing you could help me with. The bake sale is this Monday, and I still haven’t figured out what to make.”
“What have you tried so far?” she asks.
I go through all the different kinds of brownies I’ve baked, none of which have been good enough.
“Hmm,” Mom says, chewing thoughtfully. “It sounds like you were pretty unhappy when you came up with those recipes. Maybe you should try to make something when you’re feeling more positive.”
My first instinct is to brush off what she said as more of her power-of-determination advice. But I realize she’s right. I made coconut brownies when I desperately missed Dad, cayenne pepper brownies when I was furious, and sea-salt brownies when I was upset. But I never tried making anything when I was happy. Probably because I haven’t been much of that lately.
My mouth drops open, making a piece of crepe fall out onto the table. “Mom, you’re a genius!” I can’t believe the answer has been staring me right in the face all this time, and I didn’t see it. But now I have it, and it’s perfect. There is no way I’m going to lose to Angela or to anyone else this time.
Chapter 41
My good mood evaporates as we pull up to the Ivanoffs’ house later that day. I’d been hoping that if I could make amazing costumes for the dolls in Andrew’s movie, then I’d have an easier time breaking the news about not being able to go to the dance with him. But what I’ve actually made are asymmetrical capes that look like they were sewn by someone without opposable thumbs. Andrew is going to hate me on so many levels.
After Mom and I finish cleaning the Ivanoffs’ house, she insists on going ahead to the next house without me so I can talk to Andrew. “Take all the time you need,” she says, squeezing my arm.
I nod and promise to call her when I’m done. Then I take a deep breath before heading up the stairs to Andrew’s room, the bag of terrible capes in tow.
When I show him the costumes, Andrew tries to act like they’re not the ugliest things in the world. But unless he’s been drinking glue, he can see just how awful they are.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I’ll redo them. The next ones will be a lot better.”
“I’m sort of running out of time,” he says. “I have to finish shooting in the next few days. But if you think you’ll be able to do them soon…” He glances down at the pile of hideous Barbie capes and nervously runs his hand over his pale hair.
The capes took me forever to make. There’s no way I can crank out new, better outfits in only a couple days.
I feel horrible. Andrew trusted me, which wasn’t easy for him considering that he seems terrified of all humans, and I let him down. If I’d just sent Marisol his way from the beginning, it would’ve been okay. But I can’t go running to Marisol now, can I? What if I try to apologize to her and she shoots me down?
Then again, can I really live with myself if Andrew doesn’t get into film camp because of how terrible I made his movie look? No, I have to suck up my pride and ask Marisol for help. Even if it means making a total fool out of myself.
“I’ll fix this,” I tell Andrew. “Don’t worry.”
“Okay,” he says, not looking convinced. “Were you able to talk to Steve Mueller?”
“Yeah, and he promised that he and his friends would leave you alone from now on. Are you still going to take that video to the police?”
Andrew shrugs. “I’m not sure. I don’t want to just let it go. People should pay for their mistakes.”
I think of all the mistakes I’ve made, especially in the past few weeks. How long will I be paying for all those bad decisions?
“But,” Andrew goes on, “if it really won’t happen again, then I guess I can forget about it. If they give me any more trouble, I can always go to the police later.”
“Thank you,” I say, fighting the impulse to hug him. I think that might make Andrew explode with embarrassment. But the fact that he can forgiv
e people who have been making his life miserable gives me hope that maybe the people I’ve hurt might be able to forgive me too.
“So, about the dance,” says Andrew. “I was wondering what color dress you’ll be wearing.”
I know I can’t put it off any longer. I have to tell him the truth. But then I have an idea. “I’m not sure,” I tell him. “If you hold on a minute, though, I’ll go find out.”
After I leave Andrew’s house, I practically run down the street to Marisol’s.
“Rachel!” her mom says when she opens the door. “It’s so good to see you. Come on in. She’s upstairs with Angela.” I never really thought Marisol’s mom liked me that much, but she seems excited to usher me up the stairs.
When I get to Marisol’s room, I can hear laughter inside. Even though the last thing I should be doing is eavesdropping, I can’t help pressing my ear against the door.
“Did Rachel really tell you she liked this dress?” I hear Angela say. “It has so many sequins!”
Marisol is quiet for a second. “She said she loved it. Why, do you think she was lying?”
I know they have to be talking about Marisol’s sparkly red dress. Of course I wasn’t lying. It’s gorgeous.
“Probably,” says Angela. “I mean, no offense, but it’s kind of weird-looking. No one really wears stuff like this. We should go shopping tomorrow and find you some new clothes.”
“But I like the way I dress,” says Marisol.
“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it,” says Angela. “It’s just, you know, if you wanted to make more of an effort to fit in.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“You know, so people will like you. So they don’t call you Parasol anymore. Now that you’re hanging out with me, they’re willing to give you a chance, but if you keep dressing like that, no one will want to be friends with you.”
There’s a long silence. I hold my breath, afraid that Marisol will agree with her. The old Marisol would never do anything just to fit in, but I’m not sure about this new version of her.
The Dirt Diary Page 13
