Those are zombie words. I immediately wish I hadn’t said to Bodee what was said to me.
He smiles again. But this time, thanks to the hair toss, I can see his eyes. They’re brown.
“No one to tell,” he says.
We walk to homeroom beside each other but with enough distance to drive Craig’s golf cart between us. While I’ve logged one fact about Bodee, brown eyes, he’s collected a piece of information I haven’t shared with my closest friends yet.
That’s a game changer. Because what do I have on him?
Day-old blue hair.
There’s absolutely no reason to assume he won’t tell someone. Maybe he’ll tell his new football friend, and that friend will tell Ray at practice, and Ray will tell Liz on the phone, and Liz will tell Heather, and the two of them will go to my parents. Would they do that?
Or maybe Bodee has already told someone. Told his mom before she died, and she told my mom at prayer group.
Oh God, my parents know.
That’s what the family meeting is about. It’s not bad like cancer; it’s good like We’ll get you the help you need.
I can hear it now.
Shit. Shit.
Homeroom is full already. Bodee takes his assigned desk to the left of mine and is back to his old mute self. His cheek lies against the desk with two handfuls of blue locks to hide behind. There’s no hope of trying to guess what he’s thinking.
My heart’s racing on its own track now, putting roller coasters to shame. And black diamond ski slopes. And airplanes falling out of the sky.
There’s a tap at my shoulder. “Alexi.”
My head is spinning. If I twist around to see Maggie, I’ll throw up.
“Lex?”
Maggie Lister sits in the chair directly behind mine. But she must be in the wrong seat today, because she sounds a long, long way away.
“Are you going out with Dane?” she persists.
She taps again, but I’m frozen.
“Hey,” Bodee says.
His voice snaps me out of my stupor. “Hey,” I say.
There’s nothing audible, but I can read his lips. “Even if I had someone to tell, I promise I wouldn’t.”
I breathe. And nod. Either he’s as good at lying as I am or this is the truth. Since I’ve only basically exchanged one-word sentences with him, I’m not sure I can judge. But he has color in his cheeks, and I must look as white as snow. And one step up from a coma.
Maggie’s spazzing. My cookies don’t feel as tossed as they were a minute ago, so I risk swiveling in my seat to face her.
“Sorry.” I think fast for an excuse to explain my dazed and confused state. “I just realized we have a test in psych today. That I forgot.”
“Oh, crap. Do we? I thought that was next Tuesday.” She sifts frantically through her purse until she finds a memo pad. “Yeah, I have it right here. October second. Next Tuesday.”
“Whew. Thank goodness. I almost totally flipped.”
“Me too,” she says as she tosses the memo pad back into the abyss she calls a purse. “You gotta tell me about Dane.”
I shrug.
“Girl, you can’t be going out with Dane Winters and have nothing to tell.”
Bodee lies on the other cheek. He’s facing me, but he looks asleep and uninterested. “Heather set it up,” I say to Maggie. “We’re going to the soccer game, and we’re not dating.”
“So there’s nothing between . . .” Her eyes dart between Bodee and me.
I give her my best Do I know what 4,678 times 7,543 is? look.
“Good. O-kay. Awkward,” she says, drawing her own conclusion.
Maybe there is something between Bodee and me. I just don’t know what it is.
And it totally freaks me out.
School happens for the next three hours without my noticing. That psych test I invented in homeroom was prophetic: pop quiz on post-traumatic stress disorder. But I pass with flying colors. Finally, my personal knowledge of stress is useful.
The desk is my saving grace.
There, below my neat handwriting from yesterday, is the tight script of his I’ve been waiting twenty-four hours to see.
HOLD ON TIGHT
AS I LOSE MYSELF AGAIN
Then, a couple of spaces down, I see he’s printed today’s new lyrical challenge.
CAN YOU SEE ME ON THIS WALL?
A FAIRY TALE ABOUT TO FALL
I feel warm all over as I grip my pencil. He got mine right, and this new one is easy. No research required.
“I guess he’s on it,” Heather says, seeing my smile.
“Oh, yeah.”
“What did he leave you? Sinatra?”
“That was last week.” I take out my phone and show her last Friday’s picture of the desk before the custodian cleaned it, pointing to a section on Old Blue Eyes. “He’s gone more folk this time.”
Nice genre switch. I’m humming as I write.
Won’t be horses
Won’t be men
Put my soul back again
“Maybe you two do deserve each other,” Heather says. “’Cause that’s crazy. I’ve never even heard that song.”
“Do you think Dane can do this?” I ask.
“Nobody can do that. At least not without the internet.”
I’m between a lyric high and a Bodee low for the rest of the day. Dane barely registers on my radar. He doesn’t even bleep the screen until I’m in the bathroom of our local pizza place and I realize I’m not wearing the right bra for my date shirt.
“What’s taking you so long? The boys are already at the field,” Heather says.
Forgoing the bra is not an option. Kayla will be at the game, since Craig helps the soccer coach on nights there is no football. She’ll pitch a fit if I show up in a “Heather” outfit when I could have shopped in her closet.
And I might need her on my side tonight at the family meeting.
Heather pounds the stall door. “Alexi, it can’t be that bad. Let me see.”
There’s no choice. I can’t wear a black bra under my white shirt. I’ll have to wear the polo I wore to school. Time to face Heather.
“Not what I suggested,” she says. “But it might get chilly in that.” She points to the discarded peasant shirt.
“Yeah, that’s what I was worried about.”
Sometimes the lies I tell Heather aren’t little and white. They’re a dab of honey-beige foundation applied to the blemishes of my life.
The upside of this night with Dane is that I don’t have to pay for the soccer game. The downside is his hair. He’s got all these corkscrew curls that fuzz. Most of the girls think they make him look look hot, but I can’t get serious about a dark-headed Annie guy.
“You want a popcorn or something before we sit down?” he asks.
I’ve never actually seen his hands out of his pockets, so I’m tempted to say yes. The guy likes to use girls to carry his books instead of a backpack. Which begs the question: since he can have any of the giggly chicks, why did he decide to go out with me?
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind paying,” Dane says.
The offer is nice, but I shake my head. Maybe the next two hours won’t be so terrible.
“Suit yourself,” he says.
Then he spends twenty-four dollars on concession-stand food for himself. I carry two hot dogs and the popcorn so he can carry his nachos and an energy drink. Which he chugs before we get to our seats.
“Man, you’re handy to have around,” he says, and nudges my shoulder. Then he adds, “That’s what she said,” like he’s cracked the best joke of the century.
Collie drags one finger across his neck, giving his cousin the cutoff sign, and says, “Alexi hates ‘that’s what she said’ jokes.”
“No, I don’t,” I argue, even though he’s right. I start wishing the Seventh Circle of Hell would open wide enough to suck in the entire Rickman County soccer field. Even Heather look
s embarrassed by Dane’s lameness.
“So do you like music?” she asks Dane.
The rest of hot dog number two goes into his mouth, but he still answers. “Yeah. I love rap. What do you listen to?” he asks me.
“Everything. Nothing in particular. I like words,” I say, trying not to watch him eat.
“Rap’s got words.”
There’s no good way to respond to that. Yes, genius: rap has words. I think I can eliminate Dane as the potential Captain Lyric.
Dane takes a long sip of Collie’s drink. “For a girl who likes words, you don’t talk much.”
He holds up one finger. I don’t breathe as he lays it across my lips. “Shhh,” he says playfully.
I am silent.
Frozen.
Remembering.
Another finger on my lips. Another “Shhh” followed by “Don’t tell anyone.” Hands on my hips. Against my skin.
“Please don’t,” I say, but I’m so scared, and “don’t” dies in the evening air. He thinks I’m begging for more. That’s when the demon enters, binding my lips and tying my hands and laying me down in choking silence.
That terrifies me and excites him.
The referee blows his whistle, and I come to myself. My cheeks are wet with tears, and Heather says, “Alexi?”
“I have to leave,” I tell her.
“Sure.” Miffed but clearly worried, she adds, “Should I go or stay?”
“Stay. I’ll catch a ride.” I lean over to her and whisper, “Sorry. My granddad used to do that to me.”
“Aw, I’m sorry, Lex.”
I leave them on the bleachers. But I hear Dane grumble, “Damn, she wants to talk, let her talk. I was just messing with her.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Heather says. “Her granddad used to do that.”
I keep walking. My granddad never shushed me a day in my life.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
chapter 4
WHEN Heather arrives at the Malibu after the game, I’m sitting in her parking space, propped against the passenger-side tire.
I turn off my music as she says, “I thought you were catching a ride.”
“Decided to wait. I didn’t want to go home crying and have to explain,” I say.
“I could go home naked and not have to explain.”
I’m not sure if Heather is bragging or complaining. She unlocks the doors while I stretch. The hour and a half on the pavement has been as hard on my butt as on my mental health. Thinking sucks. I wish I could be an android. Or have an on-off switch installed in my head. Flip on: Lexi is able to do homework, pick a college, plan a spring break trip with friends. Acts normal. Flip off: Lexi lives in thoughtless world of stars and music and puppies. Feels nothing.
Heather’s fingers coil around the luggage rack; she stares at me across the roof. “We won. Dane asked about you.”
“Asked if I’m crazy?”
“He didn’t understand the freak-out, but he still thinks you’re cute.”
“Then I can die happy,” I say.
Heather leaves her side of the car and reappears beside me. She’s got longer arms and legs than a runway model, so when she hugs me it’s like death by boa constrictor.
“I’m sorry you had a rough night,” she says.
My arms hang limply to the side, but I allow myself to rest my head below her shoulder.
“You’ve been a little weird lately, and I’m worried about you.”
“You’re being weird right now. Since when do we hug?”
Heather’s arms loosen and she surveys me again. “Liz is worried about you too.”
“Is this an intervention? Because I’ve got a family meeting I’d rather be at,” I say.
“No. I’m just reminding you that we’re here if you need us.”
Great. My two best friends are talking about me. And I really thought, minus tonight, I’d been pulling off the act. Time to ratchet up the efforts. “I might want to talk sometime. It’s nothing big, just lost inside my head. I’ve got a bunch of questions about God.”
“Oh.” Heather retreats.
It’s not fair that I know her well enough to push the button that makes her shrivel. But it’s the perfect distraction. She’ll tell Liz on the phone tonight, and all my actions will make perfect sense through Liz’s spiritually tinted lens.
“So this is sorta what Liz went through last year after that little kid got hit by the car?”
I nod. And now all my weirdness is logical. I just bought myself at least another month before they ask again.
“Questions like that suck. I’m sorry,” Heather says.
“Thanks,” I say, and mean it. “And thanks for the hug.”
The Malibu is a dance party from the school to my house. Evidently this is Heather’s solution to the big questions of life. Which means we sing and there is no need to talk.
“See you tomorrow,” she says before she pulls away.
Now it’s time to face the real music: the family meeting. Inside, I slip off my shoes at the back door and grab a water from the fridge before my mom hears me.
“We’re in the living room,” she yells.
The hardwood groans as I move slowly down the hallway. My mind is like old bones that creak along with the boards. This could be life-changing. I might not be able to lie my way out of it. How else can I explain the scratches?
Fight with Kayla. No, she’ll be here, and she lies better than I do.
Fight at school. No, Mom would know.
In my sleep.
That option gives me a degree of deniability. It’s really the only choice. But it’s sort of like choosing between a boat with a hole and a raft with a leak. I still sink.
I lean around the door for a quick view of the living room. And my knees go so weak I could dissolve into a puddle on the floor.
Bodee is on the center cushion of our couch with my parents flanking him on either side. He doesn’t look up, but my dad does.
Won’t tell anyone. Jerk. He didn’t even wait a day.
Dad waves me into the room. “Come on in, Alexi. Kayla and Craig just called. They’ll be here any minute.”
“Craig’s coming?”
“Honey, they’re practically engaged,” Mom says. “Plus, you know how good he is at helping Kayla make decisions.” Mom winks, a code that reminds me of our private Kayla Debates. After a half gallon of ice cream and two spoons a year ago, we’d emerged with a strategy to use Craig to curb the worst of Kayla’s hotheaded behavior. She’s easier to deal with when he’s around.
Dad looks out the front window. “They’re here.”
Bodee is uncomfortable. The way he is at school, slumped shoulders and tucked chin, when he’s forced to speak to a teacher. Of course, his face is hidden behind his hair, so the fact that I’m giving him the death stare is totally ineffective.
“We’re here. Start the party,” Kayla yells before we see her bounce into the room with Craig in tow.
At the sight of Bodee, she shoots me a little body language easily identifiable as WTF. I shrug as she and Craig take the love seat. And swing my legs sideways over my chair arm, which my dad hates and probably recognizes as a show of anger.
Dad wants to start in on the abuse of furniture, but Mom’s first out of the starting gate.
“Well, I’m sure you all know Bodee Lennox.” Her eyes get teary as she says his name. “And you know that his mom and I were friends.”
We nod and she continues, “I’ve had a chance to talk to Bodee several times over the last few days. Which led to some conversations between your dad and me.” Dad smiles and pats Mom’s hand.
I scan the kids’ section of the family meeting for some clue of what’s about to go down. Kayla is puzzled; Craig has a small frown between his brows. Bodee is doing what Bodee does: nothing. My toes start flexing, my calf cramps, and I shift
positions. Fingers drumming on my knee, itching to get to my neck. But I can’t. I can’t. Not here. Breathe.
“Now, Alexi,” Mom says. I jerk my eyes away from my hands. “This is going to affect you more than Kayla or Craig.” My parents exchange another compassionate look. Bodee still looks like a broken bobblehead.
Oh God, I need a miracle. Please. Heal my neck, I pray, and I promise I’ll never lie again. A tremor I’m sure everyone can feel moves from my head to my toes, so I dig my fingernails into my palms and pray some more.
God’s not buying my lie.
“We’ve talked to the counselor at school and a lawyer.”
Over on the love seat, Kayla shifts closer to Craig, and they both give me an anxious look.
It’s worse than I thought. My whole family is going to have me committed. For scratching my neck. A few times. Not fair. Not effing fair. My gut twists as I vow to take every cutter with me. If I go down, all the long-sleeve girls at Rickman are going with me.
“And . . .”
My breath stops on that and.
“We think Bodee would be better off living here for the rest of the school year instead of at his brother’s house.”
All the air I’ve stored up rushes out in a gust of relief. Neither Kayla nor I speak. I am so happy that this is about Bodee and not me that I don’t care where he lives. Hell, he can move into my room if he wants.
Now my dad speaks. “We didn’t come to this conclusion lightly. It’s a big deal to add someone else to our household. We’ve given it a lot of prayer and consideration, but Mom and I believe our family is supposed to do this.”
“Bodee’s brother has three jobs and a lot to . . . to handle right now.” Mom’s voice falters a little as we think about why his brother has so much to do. “It’s not that Bodee isn’t welcome there, but Ben agrees with us that our home may be a better option.”
“Now,” my dad picks up where Mom leaves off, “we won’t ask either of you girls to give up your rooms. We’ll set up a bed for him in the bonus room over the garage. He’s here tonight because we assured him you girls would be on board with our decision. Don’t you think we can make this work?”
“Why are you asking us if you’ve already come to a conclusion?” Kayla tosses her head at Bodee.
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