Game of Fear

by Kabongo, Glede Browne

  I cover my face, mortified by the image.

  “So, it’s true?” Dahlia’s tone is a blend of surprise and accusation.

  I remove my hands from my face. “Not exactly. I did get a threatening text, and I did yell at her, but not for the reason she says.

  She edges closer to me and whispers, “Does it have anything to do with what we talked about the other day? The stuff you asked for?”

  I shake my head.

  She takes a step back. “Oh. So, it’s a huge deal, then?”

  “Yes. I wouldn’t have asked you to help me if it wasn’t. And by the way, do you know when Lance will have the footage?”

  “He’s working on it. It’s not as easy as it sounds. He has to find out where his dad keeps the pass key for the office and get them back before his dad finds out it went missing in the first place. I told you, this is a big favor you’re asking.”

  “Okay, Okay. I don’t mean to be impatient.”

  “What if it’s not Sidney?”

  “It has to be her. There’s no one else.”

  “But what if it’s not?”

  “Who else would it be? Sidney hates me because I don’t take crap from her.”

  Dahlia sighs loudly. “That’s messed up.”

  “It’s Sidney.”

  “Yeah.”

  Dahlia takes off, and I swap the remaining books for class. I look to my left and then freeze. Lance Carter and Christian are both heading my way. I have to think fast. I need to hear what Lance has to say, but I don’t want Christian asking me questions I’m not ready to answer. I back away from the locker as if I’m meeting them halfway. Lance is ahead by a few steps. I have seconds to say something to him. I casually plant myself in his path.

  “What’s up, Mama?” he asks in his booming voice.

  “Nothing much, Lance,” I say, then I whisper with lightning-speed, “Meet me in the chapel during lunch.” I smoothly step out of his path.

  Lance doesn’t miss a beat and continues walking as if we didn’t just agree to a secret meeting.

  Christian takes his usual spot next to my locker. His hair hasn’t completely dried from his morning shower. I catch a whiff of his cologne drifting through the air—a blend of citrus, flowers, and spice. He’s casual chic in a navy blue, long-sleeved Lacoste Polo shirt, jeans, and a burgundy scarf.

  “Why was Lance all over you?”

  My best defense is to play dumb. The first-period crowd has thinned out, so we’re virtually alone in the hallway. I shut my locker and grab my bag. He walks with me to my calculus class.

  “He was just saying hi.”

  “You whispered something to him.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Do you like him? Because I’m not afraid of the competition.”

  I slow down the pace and look at him. “There is no competition, Christian. Lance has a girlfriend. I like Dahlia. I wouldn’t go after her boyfriend.”

  “Cool. We have unfinished business.”

  “We do?”

  “We were interrupted at the party.”

  “A good thing. People saw us making out. It’s all over school.”

  “Let them talk. I hope it doesn’t bother you.”

  “I try not to let it bother me.”

  I brace myself for what’s coming next. The rumor Sidney spread about why I yelled at her and the accompanying photo floating around. He doesn’t bring it up at all. He just scored major points with me.

  We arrive outside my AP calculus class, and it’s time for him to head to his class across the hall. “Can we meet after school? At Joe’s Pizzeria?”

  “Um…I—”

  “Don’t say no, Abbie. Please.”

  That does me in. It would be cruel to say no after such a heartfelt plea. I swallow hard. “Sure. I can meet you there.”

  “Great. See you then.”

  My heart thunders in my chest as I bustle down the main hallway, heading to the chapel. I barely paid attention to anything in my morning classes. Mr. Winters, my AP calculus teacher, caught me staring out the window and wanted to know if I cared to share with the class what was so fascinating outside. Trevor caught up with me afterward and asked if I was okay, whether I was still flustered about the incident with Sidney. He told me to ignore her, that she fights dirty, and I shouldn’t come down to her level. Good advice, although Sidney is determined to get me to do just that.

  I enter Westford Chapel, an intimate, interfaith structure with gorgeous architectural detailing and beautiful stained glass windows that illuminate the chapel when sunlight seeps through. Two angels on the back walls, one on either side of the organ pipes, look down as if passing judgment on all who enter. The pews are on opposite sides of the aisle, so worshipers face each other when service is in session.

  Lance is already seated in the first row, playing a game on his smartphone. With a dark roast coffee complexion and a perfectly round shaved head, he reminds me of that giant poster my dad has in his man cave of basketball star Michael Jordan. Ironically, Lance is six-foot-three and gets annoyed when people assume he’s a basketball player. He’s not.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” I say, sliding next to him.

  “Anytime, Mama,” he says, revealing a toothy grin.

  “Dahlia told you everything?”

  “Yeah, she did. You’re lucky I like you. Dahlia said you’re freaked out, so I’ll do it tonight.”

  This is a surprise, despite my earlier whining about how long it was taking. Relief washes over me, but I feel trepidation battling its way into my consciousness. “How are you going to get the keys?”

  “The less you know, the better. I’ll save the footage on a flash drive, and you can watch it on your laptop.”

  I give Lance the dates to narrow his search and reduce the amount of time it will take to find the video. We agree to meet again in the chapel tomorrow when he will turn over the flash drive. I give him my cell phone number just in case he needs to get in touch beforehand. We head out of the chapel together.

  “So, Christian Wheeler, huh? Stranger things have happened, I guess. Is it true?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Answering a question with a question. I see you, Mama, trying to act coy. It’s cool if you and Christian are on the down low.”

  “Christian and I aren’t anything, yet.”

  “The dude had smoke coming out of his ears just because I said hi to you. I’ll say that’s something.”

  “Lance, Christian was behind you. You didn’t see anything of the kind.”

  “I felt his eyes on me. I was in for a serious beat down if I didn’t get out of there.”

  We both crack up as we leave the chapel. By this time tomorrow, I’ll have my answers.

  CHAPTER 10

  I pull out of the parking lot on my way to Joe’s Pizzeria to meet up with Christian. It’s a cold fall afternoon, the first week of November. A light breeze rustles the trees, adding to the collection of leaves already on the ground. Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays, second only to Christmas, will soon be here. It also means I only have a month left to submit my remaining college applications. No pressure at all.

  Traffic slows down as I get closer to downtown, an enclave made up of small shops, a farmer’s market, the Town Hall, a couple of churches, and the library not too far off. Castleview came into existence in the 1600s and was first settled in the 1700s, primarily as a farming community. Today, despite modern amenities and its affluent status (voted as one of the best places to live in America), most of the town is still rural. It’s quite normal to see cows grazing on wide, open land.

  Castleview borders six other Metrowest towns, including Westborough, my new residential area as of two years ago. After Mom’s jail ordeal, we sold our old house but stayed close by because my parents didn’t want to disrupt school for my brother and me. But I grew up in Castleview, and it’s still home to me.

  I stroll into Joe’s Pizzeria a
nd spot Christian right away at a booth. The afterschool hangout is already jam-packed with kids from Saint Matthews and Castleview High School. The joint is lined with booths and tables that seat two to four, covered in red-and-white-checkered tablecloths. A series of black-and-white photographs depicting the 1950s dot the walls. The smell of pizza pies coming from the brick oven competes with the scent of Pine-Sol. They must have just washed the floors.

  “Hey, you,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him.

  A dazzling smile lights up his face. I would have fainted if I weren’t already seated.

  “Glad you agreed to come. I thought you were going to say no.”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “I’m not so scary, Abbie.”

  “You’re not?”

  “You shouldn’t listen to rumors.”

  “What rumors, in particular, are you referring to, Christian?” I’m feeling puckish at the moment, and he’s not about to get off easy.

  He blushes, his face turning crimson red. “I won’t lie to you. I’ve dated my share of girls.”

  “And perhaps the share of ten other guys too, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Wow, you don’t hold anything back,” he says, removing his scarf and placing it on the seat next to him.

  “No.”

  “Except when it comes to me.”

  “I have to be cautious, Christian. I’ve never been on a bad boy’s radar before.”

  “You might like it,” he says, leaning in closer, so our faces are only inches apart. “You’re exactly what this bad boy needs. Are you up for the challenge?”

  His eyes gleam under the lantern suspended above our table. I’m mesmerized. I know I’m supposed to say something clever, but my thoughts have deserted me. The spell is broken when someone close to our table clears her throat. We ease back into our seats. Frances and Callie are grinning at us.

  “What are you guys doing here?” It’s the first thing to tumble out of my mouth.

  “The same thing you’re doing here,” Frances says.

  Callie winks at me as if to say good for you.

  “Okay. We’re all here to eat greasy, fattening food,” I say. “You know how much I hate to work out.”

  Everyone chuckles. “Well, we’re off to stuff our faces,” Callie says, pulling Frances along. Frances makes the call me sign with her hands.

  Christian and I both leave our seats and head to the counter to order pizza. He opts for pepperoni slices, and I stick to the chicken and vegetable. He grabs the drinks and napkins while I carry the paper plates with our food.

  We set the food down on the table and sit. He grabs the crushed red pepper shaker from the table and douses his pizza with it.

  “You like spicy food?”

  He looks up from his task and his lips part. “I love all things spicy.”

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Part of me is drawn to his openness, like a moth to a flame. The other part wants to run because he’s breaking down my barriers. I can’t afford to be laid bare.

  “What else do you love, besides spicy food?” I take a bite of my pizza.

  “Music, old western movies, and painting. I get some skiing done in the cold weather.”

  I stop mid-chew. “Get out of here. I didn’t know you paint. You’ll have to show me your work one of these days.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why maybe?”

  “If you behave, maybe I’ll show you my work.”

  “Who says I want to behave?”

  That’s what hanging out with Christian does to me. I say strange things. I can tell I shocked him. I shocked me, too.

  “Well, then, I can’t wait for you to misbehave.”

  “Is that all you think about?” I ask, shaking my head.

  “Hey, you’re the one with the dirty mind. I was talking about my painting. If you want to put another spin on things, that’s on you.”

  “Well, if it isn’t sad, pitiful Abbie. Enjoy it while it lasts. You know Christian is just slumming it, right?” Sidney opens her mouth and sticks her finger in. She makes a gagging sound as if she’s about to throw up. Her minions Brooke and Jessica are stuck by her side, with matching sneers on their faces. Why, oh why can’t Sidney just disappear into a black hole, and never come out?

  “Welcome to slumming it, Christian,” I say, looking directly at him. “You’re in for one

  incredible ride.”

  Sidney’s jaw drops. Jessica and Brooke just stand there looking like the insipid creatures they are. I look Sidney up and down with contempt, wave my hand at her in a dismissive gesture, and return to eating my pizza.

  She storms off, and her underlings follow suit.

  “What did you ever see in her?” I ask Christian in between bites. “Her obsession with you is unhealthy.”

  “It was just one of those things.”

  “That was rude. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s okay, Abbie. You can ask me anything.”

  “Would you like another drink? I can get you one.”

  “No, thanks.”

  He reaches across the table for my hand. He begins to stroke the back of it. Electricity pulses through me. He leans forward, intent on kissing me. It takes a herculean effort on my part to resist.

  “What subjects inspire your work? Do you use oil or water-based paint?”

  “Water-based.” He breaks eye contact with me, and his shoulders droop. I move a small piece of pizza around the plate in a circular pattern. He sips his drink. The chatter of conversation around us is a welcome distraction from the awkward moment.

  I stop fidgeting with my food and wipe my hands with a napkin. Without looking at him, I reach for his hand and interlock our fingers. He looks up at me with a questioning gaze, then leans in again. I meet him halfway, and our lips lock.

  “You two shouldn’t be allowed in public together.”

  We’re interrupted for the third time since we arrived.

  “Hi, Trevor,” I say after Christian and I separate and try to get our breathing under control.

  “Abbie, I didn’t think you had it in you. Bad girl,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  “What’s up, Trevor?” Christian asks.

  “You’re the man, bro.”

  “Why did you say that to him?” I ask Trevor.

  “It’s nothing,” Christian says.

  “Abbie, I’ll see you tomorrow. Catch you later, bro,” he says to Christian.

  “It’s getting late. I have to get home,” I say. “Mom’s not going to be happy that I’m stuffed and won’t have dinner.”

  “You’re so lucky to have a celebrity chef as a mother. She can make you anything you want.”

  “Yeah, well it’s not good for my hips. I can’t stay away from her cooking, especially her desserts.”

  “Your hips look just fine to me,” he says. “I like a girl who eats like a normal person.”

  “Are you saying I’m fat?” I ask, teasing him.

  “No. You’re nowhere near fat. In fact, I thought you might be too skinny for a girl your height.”

  “Nice save.”

  We both laugh at the absurdity of the discussion.

  “What about your mom? What is she like?”

  His lips form a grim line.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then why did you just flip?”

  “I don’t like to discuss my family.”

  “Why not?” It sounds odd to me. Even people who hate their families have something to say about them.

  His eyes focus on the half-eaten pizza slice left on his plate. I don’t know what brought on the sudden change to a simple question people often ask.

  “Sorry, I asked. I won’t do it again.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You said I could ask you anything.”

  “You can. It’s just that when it comes to m
y family, well, it’s complicated.”

  “I understand complicated. I wasn’t trying to be nosy. Okay, I was. I just want to know what kind of woman you call ‘Mom.’ What you were like as a kid. That’s what normal people talk about when they’re trying to get to know someone. I don’t want anything from you, Christian. I only want to know what makes you who you are. The same questions you asked me at Evan’s party.”

  He hangs his head slightly, embarrassed by his behavior. He looks up at me. “Being Mrs. Alan Wheeler is a full-time job. She doesn’t have time for much else.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She’s always busy with her charity work, traveling and hosting duties. You know, being a socialite.”

  “Oh. I see. Was it always that way?”

  “Since I was born. I know she loves me. I was just never her number one priority. That was the nanny’s job.”

  My heart hurts for him, learning that he didn’t have his mom’s constant attention. “What about your dad?”

  “He wants me to be his clone.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Alan Wheeler 2.0. He wants me to work at Levitron-Blair one day, handle business the way he does, do exactly as he says.”

  Levitron-Blair is the second largest media conglomerate in the world. Last year, they withdrew their bid to take over Sion Cable when federal regulators threatened to block the deal for fear they would have too much influence over the worldwide web.

  “But you don’t want that?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t like that my future is all planned out according to someone else’s ideas. On the other hand, it’s my legacy.”

  “Being an only son sucks, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “That’s exactly how I feel. Sometimes I wish I had an older brother to take the pressure off.”

  “You’ll figure it out. If you decide to work for the company, don’t get stuck being president of some division. You want to be CEO and Chairman of the Board with enough shares to cement your power. That way, you can run things the way you want with little interference from other board members. And your dad, he can take a permanent vacation.”

  “Wow,” he says,” suddenly sitting straight up. “How do you know so much about business?”