by Amy Clipston
Besides, did I really want to open myself up to a friendship with another high school mechanic?
Tears welled up in my eyes, and Mrs. Whitehead’s voice echoed in my head: Whenever you feel like you’re so full of emotion that you want to cry your eyes out or scream your head off, just open up this journal and write, Emily. Write everything down — every thought, every feeling. Nothing is too big or too small. It’ll help you sort through your feelings and ease the weight of the world from your shoulders.
I flopped onto the bed and fished a pen from the backpack I’d thrown there earlier. Reaching up, I grasped the gold cross I’d put on the day my mom died. My mom had worn the necklace every day since she’d been diagnosed with cancer, and she said the little gold charm gave her hope. Although the necklace hadn’t given me any hope, it made me feel closer to her. Closing my eyes, I tried to whisper a prayer for strength, like my mom used to do, but nothing came to my mind. Instead, I recited a prayer I’d learned in Sunday school when I was a kid, but the words felt forced instead of sincere.
I let the cross fall to my collarbone and, turning to a new page in the journal, I began to write a letter to my mom:
Saturday, August 20
Dear Mom,
Dad and I arrived at Whitney’s this afternoon. I feel like I’m trapped in an alternate universe. Everything here is perfect — from the houses to the landscaping. Classes start Tuesday, and I can’t fathom starting my junior year without Megan.
I’m afraid I might suffocate here if I stay too long. I hope Dad finds a job soon, so we can get our own place. He seems totally unaffected by this move. He’s still smiling and joking like usual. Doesn’t anything get to him?
I’m still wearing the cross you wore while you were sick. I wish it gave me the strength that it gave you. You always said that God was your strength and your rock. Apparently he’s not mine. I want to talk to God and tell him how I feel, but lately when I lay in bed at night, I can’t seem to form the words, no matter how hard I try. Isn’t that crazy? I was raised in a church, but now I’ve forgotten how to pray. You were the one who taught me how to talk to God. How will I remember now that you’re gone?
I’ve never felt so alone before. It’s going to be a horrible junior year.
And more than anything, I miss you, Mom.
I closed the journal, laid it and the pen on the nightstand, and leaned back on the pillows. Closing my eyes, I held the cross tightly in my fingers and fell asleep.
chapter two
You ready?” Whitney bellowed from somewhere in the house. “I’ve got to pick up Kristin in, like, ten minutes.” “I’m coming!” I called back, taking one last look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I frowned at my hair, which was a curly mess to the middle of my back. Megan, who was blessed with sleek, pin-straight black hair, once told me she’d kill to have my natural wave. I told her that if she’d ever spent an hour trying to run a pick through my curly knots, she’d change her mind.
Fearing my hair might frizz in the humidity, I snatched a rubber band from the bin on the counter and forced my hair into a ponytail at the nape of the neck. I then studied my reflection once last time, smoothing my plain gray T-shirt and denim shorts. I smeared on some lip gloss just to give my fair complexion a little color.
Then, with a deep breath, I grabbed my green camouflage book bag and raced down the stairs to where Whitney stood scowling in her maroon, yellow, and white cheerleading uniform. A matching maroon bow in her golden ponytail completed the Cameronville Barbie look.
“We gotta roll, Em,” she said, jingling her keys and heading for the back door.
I followed her through the living room to the kitchen, where my father, uncle, and Logan sat at the table eating heaping piles of pancakes while my aunt stood at the counter.
“Are you going to eat?” my dad asked, glancing up from the classified section of the paper.
“No time,” I said, fetching the lunch bag I’d packed the night before from the refrigerator. I slipped my lunch into my book bag.
My aunt shoved a bagel and a napkin at me. “It’s the most important meal of the day.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m fine.”
Darlene opened my hand and placed the bagel in it. “Take it.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to get registered?” my dad asked.
“I have everything I need in here,” I said, smacking my bag. “I can register myself.”
“All right.” My dad stood and kissed the top of my head. “Have a good day. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Let’s go,” Whitney said with a huff, opening the back door. “Kristin is waiting.”
I followed her out to the red Honda in the driveway and opened the rear passenger door.
“What are you doing?” she asked, wrenching open the driver door.
“Getting in the car.” I dropped my bag onto the floor.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, climbing in. “Sit up front with me.”
“But Kristin —”
“She doesn’t care.” She waved off the comment. “Just get in.”
I grabbed my bag and slipped into the front seat. A cross, similar to the rainbow-colored one on Whitney’s keychain, swung back and forth from a gold cord on her mirror. I wondered how much stock she put in the symbol. Was she truly a Christian or was it for show, like the cheerleading uniform?
As I pulled off a piece of bagel, a big glob of white cream cheese plopped into my lap. “Oh man,” I groaned. I’d spent the weekend worrying about how things would go on my first day at Whitney’s school, and this wasn’t the start I’d been hoping for.
“I have napkins in the glove compartment,” Whitney said, jamming her key, which was on a ring filled with a dozen different keychains with various sayings, happy faces, and the cross, into the ignition switch.
I considered warning her that the weight of those key chains could break the ignition. Instead, I kept my thought to myself, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a couple of napkins. I then tried in vain to clean my shorts, succeeding at only rubbing the white blob deeper into the fabric. “Great. I’ll be known as the new girl with the cream cheese spot on her shorts.”
“It’s hardly noticeable.” Whitney turned the key, and the engine turned over but didn’t catch. “Stupid car,” she grumbled. She turned the key again with the same result.
I raised an eyebrow. “Does this happen a lot?”
“Like only every day!” She tried the key again, and once more it only turned over. “I’ve told my dad, and he keeps promising to take it to the shop.” She turned the key a fourth time, and it caught. “Finally!” She slammed the gearshift into drive and my neck snapped back as we roared down the driveway.
“Well, it sounds like you need —”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. I turned my head just as we hit the end of the driveway — at the same time that the green Jeep from next door hit the end of the parallel driveway. And the two cars were about to bounce onto the street at the same time.
“Stop!” I screamed.
She slammed on the brakes, bringing the Honda to a stop inches from hitting the Jeep. “Sorry,” she whispered.
The boy in the Jeep grinned and moved his arm in a cranking motion.
As I rolled down my window, I was mesmerized by his deep blue eyes, which were a startling contrast to his dark brown hair. “In a hurry to get to class?” he asked with a laugh.
Whitney leaned over me, and her cheeks blushed a bright pink. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s no problem.” He made a sweeping gesture. “Ladies first.”
“Thanks!” she called with a wave before steering out onto the street. “Good grief. That was almost a disaster.”
I watched in the side mirror as he pulled out behind us. He drummed his steering wheel and sang as he drove. He was so good-looking that I coul
dn’t stop staring at him for a few moments. He had athletic good looks, with facial features that seemed to be chiseled from fine tan granite. But there was something sweet about his face and his smile. And those blue eyes. Wow.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Zander Stewart,” Whitney said, checking her eye makeup in the mirror. “He’s the guy building that big, ugly gas-hog car.”
“Dodge Challenger,” I corrected her, still studying him in the mirror. “Zander’s a unique name.”
“His real name is Alexander, but he prefers Zander.”
“Oh,” I said. “So he likes cars?”
“That’s an understatement,” she said. “He spends all of his free time in that garage. Logan goes over there to talk to him. Logan says he wants to be a mechanic, which doesn’t make my father happy at all.”
My eyes snapped to hers, and she blushed again.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything about your dad,” she said, slowing at a stop sign and slapping on her blinker.
“It’s okay.” I glanced back at the mirror. Zander was still drumming the steering wheel and singing, and I couldn’t help but think he was adorable. “He’s good with cars?”
“Oh yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask him to look at this old thing, but I’ve been so busy.” She turned left, and he beeped while going right.
“It needs a good tune-up. Spark plugs for sure,” I said, watching the Jeep disappear around another corner. I wondered if he would be in any of my classes. If he was, would I find the nerve to talk to him?
“Huh,” she said, nosing the Honda into a driveway and beeping the horn. “Maybe I can get your dad to do it.”
“I’m sure he would,” I said. “Or I can. I did a few tune-ups at his shop.”
The front door opened, and a bottle blonde dressed in the same cheerleader uniform with the same matching bow in her ponytail bounced down the front steps and grinned all the way to the car.
She bounded into the backseat, dropping her pink backpack onto the floor. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Kristin. You must be Emily!”
“Hi,” I said, thinking she was way too perky for this early in the morning.
“It’s great to meet you,” Kristin said, her gaze sweeping my attire. “We missed you at the swim party.” She turned to Whitney. “How are you?”
“This morning was nearly a disaster.” Whitney backed out of the driveway and steered down the street. “I just about took out Zander and his Jeep when we were pulling out of the driveway.”
“That wouldn’t have been so bad.” Kristin raised her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t mind giving him mouth-to-mouth.”
“Oh, stop it!” Whitney said, and Kristin squealed.
“So, did you hear the latest about Holly Lloyd and Rob Myers?” Kristin said.
“No! What happened?” Whitney said, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Well, you won’t believe this! Tiffany called me last night to tell me the news.” Kristin launched into a long, convoluted story involving beer, betrayal, and a secret rendezvous.
I stared out the window and finished the bagel while wondering how long the ride would last.
When we pulled into the parking lot behind the sprawling Cameronville high school, I spotted the green Jeep and then Zander standing with a group of jock-looking types a few cars away.
Whitney parked the Honda one row over and I hopped out of the car. She and Kristin joined a group of girls clad in the same uniform, and I headed for the door with Administration written above it. As I moved past the group of jocks, I locked eyes with Zander, and he nodded, causing me to quicken my steps.
Forty-five minutes later, I negotiated my way through the hallway just in time to make the last few minutes of homeroom. After showing my paperwork to the teacher, I moved to the back of the room, ignoring the questioning stares. I vowed to keep a low profile and stay anonymous, which would be better than being known as Whitney Richards’ Cousin with the Cream Cheese Stain.
At the front of the room, I spotted Whitney giggling and flipping her ponytail back while chatting with a group of cheerleaders. I bit back a groan at the sight. Whitney was so pretty and made friends so easily that it made my stomach roil. And even if I wanted to, there’s no way I could make myself fit into her group. Her eyes met mine and she waved. I forced a smile as she approached.
“How did it go?” she asked, leaning over my desk.
“Fine,” I said, ignoring the curious looks her friends threw our way.
“Let me see your schedule.” She lifted the piece of paper from the desk and studied it. Looking up, she smiled. “I’ll see you in gym and at lunch.”
“Cool,” I said.
The bell rang, followed by a scramble for the door with bags and backpacks flying. Whitney rushed back to her desk, and her friends continued to watch me, causing my cheeks to flare with embarrassment. I hated how I blushed so easily.
The halls were packed with kids that bumped and nearly tripped me on my way to my English class. After checking in with the teacher, I took a seat all the way in the back. My thoughts turned to Zander and the Dodge, and I busied myself with doodling a Challenger on my spiral notebook. I was adding details when a girl dropped into the seat beside me.
“Hi,” she said.
I kept shading, certain she wasn’t speaking to me. She leaned over. “Hi,” she repeated. “I’m Chelsea.” I looked up and found her grinning in my direction. I glanced behind me to see if she was speaking to someone else. She snickered. “Yeah, I’m talking to you. You’re new, right?” I nodded.
She held out her hand. “I’m Chelsea. And you are …?” “Emily.” I gave her hand a quick shake. “Nice to meet you.” I turned my attention back to my drawing. “Where are you from?” she asked. “Up north,” I said. “Where up north?”
I looked up at her and she smiled. She wore a colorful peasant-type shirt with splotches of primary colors on it. A matching headband held her deep red hair back from her pale face. Her makeup was perfect — as if a makeup artist had spent hours on her face. The colors brought out the gold in her brown eyes, but it wasn’t overdone.
“Outside Philly,” I said, placing my pencil onto my spiral notebook.
“Then this is a change for you, huh?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
She pressed on. “Where did you move to?” “Castleton,” I said.
“Wow.” Her eyes were wide. “That’s a nice part of town. Huge houses. I’d love to live there. I live on the other side of town in Rock Creek.”
I nodded, even though I had no idea where that was.
“My best friend, Eileen, lived in Castleton and moved to Philly last year. Kinda funny, huh? Her dad’s in banking. Is your dad a banker?”
“No.” I twirled my pencil in my fingers. “He’s in the automotive industry.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “Cool.”
I nodded, not sure what to say next.
“I moved here in the middle of seventh grade,” she began, “so I know what it’s like to be new. It’s a total drag. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” I said, overwhelmed by her welcoming smile.
Chelsea opened her mouth to say something, but the teacher interrupted, calling the class to order and handing out a syllabus.
When class was over, I gathered up my books and started for the door.
“Emily!” Chelsea came up behind me. “Where are you headed?”
“Gym,” I said, following the line of students out to the hallway.
“Cool,” she said, falling in step with me. “Me too.”
She made small talk about the weather as we weaved through the cramped hallway to the gymnasium. I scanned the area hoping for a quick look at Zander, but he was nowhere in sight.
I pushed through the double doors of the gym, and my stomach clenched when I spotted Whitney in the corner surrounded by a group of girls in matching cheerleading uniforms. How many of these girls were there?
Hopi
ng Whitney wouldn’t spot me, I turned to Chelsea, who was yammering on about how hot it’d been all summer.
“Hey,” I said, interrupting her. “Want to go sit over there?” I pointed to a spot on the other side of the gym.
She shrugged. “Sure.”
I dropped onto the floor next to her and pulled my knees up to my chin while she continued on about spending the summer babysitting. I was only half listening to her while my thoughts returned to Zander and his Challenger. I wondered how he would react if I showed up in his garage one afternoon and offered to help him with his car. Would he dismiss me as a strange girl or would he welcome the help? I’d met Tyler when he started working part-time at my dad’s shop. Although our relationship made me wonder if I had any sense at all when it came to guys.
“What about you?” Chelsea asked.
“Huh?” I glanced over at her, and immediately felt guilty when she frowned, looking hurt. “I’m sorry. I was a million miles away thinking about my best friend back home.” It wasn’t a complete lie; I’d been missing Megan all day. And, actually, at one point I had considered Tyler my best friend. That is, until he dumped me.
She smiled. “It’s okay. I miss Eileen too.” She touched my leg. “I’m just glad I have you to talk to.”
And at that moment I knew she was genuine, and I was glad she’d chosen me.
The coach called the class to order and spent the next forty-five minutes lecturing about the intricacies of badminton. Who knew it was such a complicated sport?
When the bell rang, the crowd of students murmured while heading toward the double doors.
“I guess I’ll see you later,” I said, following Chelsea to the door.
“Yeah.” Chelsea pulled out a piece of paper and studied it. “I’ve got to head clear to the other side of campus, so I better run. Have a good one.”
“You too.” I moved through the door and fished my schedule from my pocket. Turning the corner, I came face-to-face with Whitney.
“Hey,” she said. “I looked for you in gym.”
“Oh, I was sitting in the back with a friend,” I said. “I didn’t see you.”
