by Margo Kelly
“I figured you were too busy with school and sports to have time to play Skadi anymore.”
“I don’t have time. That’s why I need to update my status every once in a while. I don’t want to lose my characters that I worked so hard to level up.”
My cell vibrated continuously, indicating an incoming call. I snatched it off the desk top and read the screen. Derek. I hit the Reject button and slipped the phone into my pocket. He wasn’t supposed to call . . . and he picked now of all times.
“Who was that?” Mom asked.
“Janie.”
“Why didn’t you answer?”
“We’re in the middle of a conversation.”
“Okay,” Mom said. “So, do you still talk with that Kit character all the time?”
I tried to not roll my eyes. “He doesn’t really play Skadi anymore.”
“I thought he was the Guild Master?”
“Guild Leader, and no, he’s not anymore. He promoted me to Guild Leader. That’s why it’s important I check in. I have to respond to questions from my guild members.”
Mom remained motionless but said, “Hurry up so we can get to the movie.”
“I need a lock for my door.”
“Don’t use the Internet with the door closed.” She walked out and closed the door behind her.
I checked to see if Derek had left a voice mail. Nothing. I texted him.
We agreed no phone calls. My mom was standing right next to me!—Thea
He didn’t reply. I changed my clothes and took my homework out to the kitchen table. I hoped Derek was okay.
CHAPTER 11
To trust or not to trust? The question repeated in my mind. I knew I could count on Janie, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I told her everything. Well, almost everything. I didn’t divulge all the little details of my private chats and e-mails with Derek. Could I trust Derek? I believed so, but he was still ticked from when I ditched out on him the other night for dinner and a movie. Seemed childish to me. But, I guess if I were him, I would’ve been upset, too. I should try harder to be more dependable for him.
I wished I could talk to Mom about my relationship with Derek and about his alcoholic dad, but I doubted her reaction. I wanted her to listen to me and then offer objective advice on how I could help him, but I was sure she’d freak out if I revealed the truth about the e-mails, texting, and the fact that Derek and I knew each other’s real names.
Mom was driving us to our first yoga class, finally, and we were alone. Safe within the confines of the car, I knew this was an ideal time to talk to her because no one could hear or interrupt us. She checked the rear view mirror and then smiled at me.
“Did you want to discuss something?” she asked.
I considered it. But when I didn’t answer, she poked the buttons on the radio, found a station she liked, and sang along with the song. Her face brightened and her chin lifted. She wasn’t a great singer, but that never stopped her.
I had lost my opportunity.
My stomach twisted, and I realized I needed my life to slow down so that I could have more time to figure out this mess. I gazed out the side window at the trees, people, and buildings sliding by. The objects moved too fast for me to focus on them. If I looked ahead I could see the images clearly, but they blurred when they sped past—or when I sped past them. I closed my eyes and tried to shut out the world for a moment.
The car slowed and turned. I opened my eyes at the same time Mom pulled into the parking lot of the rec center. As usual, she drove past a gazillion open spots and parked at the far end of the lot.
“Why don’t you park closer?”
“I like to walk.”
“But we’ll get exercise in the class. Why park so far away?”
“It will give us more time to chitchat.”
“We didn’t talk in the car. Why would we now just because you parked in another county?” Mom put the key back into the ignition, backed the car up, and relocated to the spot nearest the entrance. Why couldn’t she just ask me questions about what’s bothering me? I dropped my chin to my chest.
“Better?” she asked and yanked the key out of the ignition. She tightened her lips, and we stared at each other for a moment.
“Much.” I grabbed my water bottle and hopped out of the car. We didn’t say anything to each other while we walked to the entrance. Mom checked us in at the front counter, and we headed upstairs to Studio Four. It was weird to be back in that room. I recalled the final night of our self-defense class, and my throat tightened. A lot had happened since then.
We were early, so I set my water bottle down and told Mom I needed to use the restroom. When I returned, Mom was on the other side of the room speaking with Jackson. Great. I walked over to them.
“You’re out of uniform,” I waved my finger up and down at Jackson’s attire. I’d never seen him in anything but his skin-tight, black macho clothes, and tonight he was wearing baggy shorts and a loose T-shirt. His feet were bare.
“Yoga clothes.” He held his hands out in a “ta-da” kind of pose. Bulging veins traveled the length of his arms, hardly any hair covered his finely sculpted legs, and how he could be that tan . . . I had no idea.
“You don’t approve?” he asked.
“The hairy toes are throwing me off.”
He wiggled his feet and clasped his chest, a feigned broken heart. “I’m so hurt.”
“Whatever!” I shoved his shoulder and laughed.
His perfectly groomed mustache bounced while he chuckled in response. “So, your mom tells me volleyball is going well.” I nodded. After an awkward pause, he asked, “Are you in Coach Gavyn’s Health class at Skycrest?”
What a weird question. “No.”
“He asked if I would loan some equipment for a personal-safety demonstration this winter for his classes. I thought I might see you there.”
“Nope. Not me.”
“Is he working you hard in volleyball practice?”
“I suppose.” My thoughts turned to the day we ran stair laps, and how he singled me out when he yelled at us. “Why?” I asked.
“You kicked the snot out of him in that final self-defense class.” Jackson clasped his hands behind his back, but the pose was less intimidating in his baggy T-shirt and shorts.
“Coach Gavyn was the guy in the padded equipment?” I asked.
Jackson nodded with a smile. “Don’t worry. He’s a good guy. He won’t hold it against you. Plus, he told me he couldn’t wait to work with you in volleyball because you’re so determined to win.”
My mouth hung open as I processed this information. Coach never said anything to me about it. I had no idea who the padded guy really was.
“Your mom also says you’re spending a lot of time on that Skadi game with someone named Kit,” Jackson said.
I whipped my head toward Mom. “Seriously?” Her cheeks reddened.
Jackson released his mercenary stance and placed a hand on my shoulder. “She cares about you. Don’t be mad. She just wants you to be safe.”
“I am safe,” I said too loudly. People gawked at us, including Keith who had just entered the room.
“It’s just a game.” I clenched my teeth together. How could they gang up on me right before class?
“Well, if you ever need to talk, I’d be happy to listen,” he said. I didn’t know how to respond to that. And I didn’t have to, because Keith came over to say hello.
“Welcome to yoga,” Keith said. “I’m so glad you came.”
I bit my lips together and said nothing.
Keith’s smile faded. “All right then, let’s get started.” He moved to the front of the class and welcomed everyone.
The three of us set up our mats together, and Jackson showed off his physical skills during the class. Yoga was way harder than I ever imagined.
■
After class, we put our shoes back on, and Jackson said, “It was nice to see you both tonight. Thea . . . make smart choices and stay safe.”
“I always do,” I said. He waved and headed out.
“I can’t believe you talked about me before class again,” I said to Mom.
“I didn’t talk about you—”
“You told him about Kit.”
“I merely said I was concerned.” Her mouth opened like she was about to say more, but then she closed it.
“What?”
“Not here.” She glanced around the room. I did, too, and found Keith staring at us. He gave us an awkward little wave and jutted out his chin. Mom took my elbow and steered me out of the classroom. We talked while walking.
“What else did you say to Jackson about me?” I asked.
“I told him that our relationship wasn’t as strong as it used to be. You used to talk to me. But ever since you started playing that online game, you don’t listen to me. There are dangers out in the world that you can’t imagine—”
“You don’t listen to me.”
“There’s no way to get through to you. I’m afraid your hormones are influencing your decision-making process—”
I accidentally huffed. She stopped speaking.
“What?” I asked. I’d had enough. She didn’t reply but continued walking.
We got in the car, but before inserting the key, she asked, “Is there anything else you want to discuss, Thea?”
“Nope.” I had enough discussion, and I had my answer. The answer was no. I could not trust Mom with the information about Derek. She would overreact.
■
After school the next day, our volleyball team loaded up for an away game. I climbed onto the bus and clutched my cell next to my hip. We weren’t supposed to use our phones while traveling to games, because the coaches wanted us to build team camaraderie. But I needed to text Derek. We didn’t connect at all yesterday, and I was worried he was still upset with me. I took a seat at the back of the bus where the coaches wouldn’t see me, and I pulled out my phone.
RU still mad?—Thea
Relief flooded through me when he replied immediately, which reaffirmed my choice to give him my number after all.
I needed to talk 2U the other night & u weren’t there for me.—Derek
Sorry—Thea
Where RU now?—Derek
Heading to an away game for vb—Thea
So . . . can I call right now?—Derek
No. I am on bus & not supposed to be using phone—Thea
RU going to get in trouble?—Derek
I peeked to see if the coaches were nearby. The assistant coach stood outside talking to a player, and Coach Gavyn was distracted with his own phone. More girls clambered onto the bus, and a teammate plopped onto the bench across the aisle from me.
“You’re not supposed to be texting,” she whispered and pointed at my phone.
“I know,” I said and started to put it away.
She shook her head. “I’m not going to tell. Who are you texting anyway?”
I considered how to answer. “My boyfriend.” I tried to make it sound natural and normal.
“Sweet!” She slid onto my bench and threw her arm around my shoulders. “Take our picture and send it to him. Guys crave that kind of stuff.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Okay . . .” I figured she was right. Derek would love it. We posed, cheek to cheek, and puckered our lips. I snapped the picture and sent it to him. We huddled and waited for his reply.
NICE! Does this mean u have permission to use ur phone? LOL—Derek
“Ha! Tell him we need a photo back!” she said, but before I could send another text, the assistant coach started down the aisle, counting heads. I slipped the phone under my shirt, and my teammate hopped back across the aisle to the other bench. My cell vibrated, but I ignored it until he returned to the front of the bus. While the girls around me joked about the science teacher’s new haircut, I hunched forward and pulled out my phone.
Love the pix!—Derek
BTW, UR gorgeous with your hair loose around your face today!—Derek
My heart skipped. He said the sweetest things. Joy flooded through me. I didn’t want the conversation to end, but I needed to put the phone away before one of the coaches caught me.
I can’t text more. But thanks for the compliment. I needed it!—Thea
Luv U. Have a great game. Text me later!—Derek
I will as soon as I can! Luv U 2—Thea
And, BTW, I need another pix of U!—Thea
I slipped the phone into my bag and sighed.
CHAPTER 12
Found it. I pulled back from the recesses of the pantry and blew the dust off a box of chocolate cake mix. I hollered, “Mom?” and heard a mumble from her bedroom. I headed that direction. My parents’ bedroom took up the back left corner of the house; mine took the right. We both had big windows that opened to the backyard, but I did not have an awesome walk-in closet or private bathroom like they did. But I guess since they paid the bills, they should have the better room. I leaned into the open doorway. “Mom?”
“In here,” she said from the depths of her closet.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Cleaning. Letting go of the old stuff makes space for new and better things to come in.”
I did a mental head slap. Whatever. “All right—”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to clean out your closet. You most likely have dirty dishes in there from five years ago.”
“I do not!”
She came out. A dumb smile crept across her face while my cheeks started to burn. I took a deep breath. “I didn’t come in here to talk about messy closets. I came in here to ask if I could make a cake.”
Mom brushed her fingers across her cheek. “Go for it.”
“We don’t have any frosting. Can we go buy some?” I asked.
“We have powdered sugar and milk. You can make some.”
“From scratch?” I asked. “Will you help me?”
“Sure.” She straightened her pants. “Why are you making a cake?”
“Oh . . . it’d be fun for dessert tonight.” Things had improved between Mom and me over the last couple of weeks. We talked more, and she lectured less.
We headed back to the kitchen, and Mom helped me with the cake. She taught me how to make the frosting, and I added red and yellow food coloring to turn it orange—it was almost Halloween, after all. She left me to finish on my own. It was a plain square cake, but the orange frosting and colorful sprinkles made it fun.
A great cake for a birthday.
I grinned and took a deep breath. The fragrant vanilla made my mouth water. I took a finger and scraped some of the remaining frosting from the mixing bowl. I licked all of it from my finger and savored the sweet flavor. Life was good, and Derek would love that I did this for him. I texted him.
I’m going to e-mail u a bday surprise!—Thea
What is it?—Derek
Check your e-mail in a few min—Thea
K! LuvU—Derek
Out of habit, I deleted the texts from my phone. I slipped it into my pocket, and I went through the archway to Mom’s desk in the family room. I borrowed her digital camera and a cable from her computer and ran back to the kitchen to take a picture of the bright orange cake. Perfect! I darted around the corner and down the hall to my bedroom and downloaded the photo. I deleted the picture from the camera and returned both it and the cable back to Mom’s desk. The connector on the cable clicked when I pushed it into the slot on her computer. I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, but I was alone in the family room and Mom’s bedroom was too far away for her to hear me fiddling with her stuff.
I ran back to my room and opened my private e-mail account. I could have sent the picture via text, but it’d be bigger and easier to see in an e-mail.
Dear Derek,
Happy Birthday! Twenty! WOW! ☺
I wish I could be there to help you celebrate.
But at least I made you a cake! Haha . . . picture attached
Have fun. Love you!
/>
Thea
I knew he wanted me to call and wish him a happy birthday, but the idea of speaking to him on the phone unnerved me; I would sound like a complete dope. Typing words came more easily with Derek. Besides, I could edit what I wanted to say before he read it.
I clicked Send on the e-mail, and Mom called my name from the hallway. My heart leaped from my chest.
She stepped into my room and waved her camera in the air. Its strap swung back and forth. “Did you use my camera?”
“Yes.” Sometimes the truth was easier than a lie. “I figured it was no big deal.”
“You hooked the cable up wrong to my computer. What’d you take a picture of?”
A high pitched buzz flooded through my ears. My private e-mail account was still displayed on my monitor. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. My chest constricted, and I fought for each breath.
The camera clanked when she set it on my desk. We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Gunslingers at the O.K. Corral. Who would draw their gun first? Mom. She was the fastest gun in this fight.
“I asked you a question,” she said.
“I e-mailed Janie a picture—”
Mom’s gaze drifted toward the computer screen.
She didn’t seem to breathe. Her face tightened, as though someone pulled plastic wrap across it, dragging her features back toward her ears.
“You have a Yahoo! e-mail account?” she asked.
My head bounced ever-so-slightly, like a sappy bobblehead, and I couldn’t seem to make it stop. I reached over and closed the window before she could see any of the details. Things went blurry, and I tried to refocus.
“Thea!”
I rubbed my face and shot out my explanation. “It’s no big deal. I took a picture of the cake. I used your cable to download it to my computer, and I e-mailed it to Janie. Yahoo! is easier to navigate than our other e-mail.” Fact was, the family e-mail account wasn’t hard to use, but my parents controlled it. They received a copy of every e-mail I sent or received, claiming it fell under the umbrella of wanting to keep us safe. I dropped my hands and studied her. She wasn’t reaching for my throat to kill me, so I was pretty sure my life was safe for the moment.
