I opened the door to Fletcher standing there, wiping his palms on his thighs. He frowned and looked over my shoulder.
“Hey, Fletch. Are you all right?”
He nodded and then shook his head. What was that supposed to mean?
“I’m just . . . a little nervous, I guess.”
Fletcher never got nervous about anything.
“It’s okay. It’s just my family. There’s nothing to be nervous about.” But that wasn’t entirely true. Mom was Judgy McJudgenstein, and my little sisters weren’t much better.
Fletcher shifted from foot to foot. “My mom sent a coffee cake, but I dropped it on the way. My hands were slippery, and it just fell.”
“Oh, that’s okay. It was nice of her anyway.” I stepped to the side so Fletcher could come in. He placed one foot in the doorway, paused and then pulled the other inside. He took a deep breath as if that had been hard work.
I couldn’t help but laugh because I’d never seen him act that way. “Fletcher, relax. It’s just dinner.”
I led him into the kitchen, where my family had gathered around the table. “Everybody, this is Fletcher Whitelock. Fletch, this is Mom, Dad, Paige, and Quinn,” I said, pointing to each member of my family.
Fletcher shook my father’s hand and then took a seat where we had made a spot for him beside me. Paige and Quinn looked at each other, giggling, and I knew it was because Fletcher was cute. They’d seen him before but only in passing. Paige, who had turned bright red, kept stealing glances at Fletcher, but he mostly ignored my sisters.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Fletcher,” Mom said as she placed a basket of garlic rolls at the center of the table before going to pull the lasagna from the oven.
Immediately Fletcher grabbed four rolls and set them in a line on his plate. “I like bread.”
More giggling from my sisters. Dad stared at Fletcher’s plate, and I didn’t even want to look back and see Mom’s reaction.
Dad watched as Fletcher took a bite out of one of the rolls but then smiled. I sat back, relieved. Even if Mom already hated Fletcher, I knew Dad would at least give him a chance. “So, you’re a Whitelock.”
Fletcher nodded.
“Your parents really keep to themselves, don’t they?” Dad asked.
Fletcher nodded again, taking another bite of bread.
Mom placed the lasagna on the table and cut it into neat squares with the spatula. Dad folded his arms across his chest, and I worried that maybe he wasn’t going to give Fletch a fair chance. “You know, we invited your parents to our couples’ book club. They only came once and never came back.”
Where was Dad going with this? What did Fletcher have to do with his parents not wanting to join their boring book club? Maybe it just wasn’t for them.
Fletcher nodded. “That’s because my dad said it wasn’t a book club. He said it was a gathering of local pompous-ass idiots who think they’re better than everyone else.”
My sisters gasped, and Mom froze. My heart sank.
Dad rubbed his chin, narrowing his eyes at Fletcher. “Did he really?”
“Uh . . .” I tried to think of something to say to defuse the situation, but I had nothing.
“Yes,” Fletcher replied. “Mom said the women are worse.”
Dad turned a deep shade of red, but he didn’t understand. Fletcher wasn’t trying to be rude or a smartass. He was just being honest. His parents had really said those things.
Dad cleared his throat. “Why don’t we change the subject?”
“No,” Mom said tightly. “Let’s not. I’d like to know. Why do your brilliant parents think the rest of us are idiots?”
I slid down in my chair. Mom was pissed, and there was no turning back.
Fletcher looked at me for a moment and then at Mom. “They think you’re idiots because you haven’t told her yet.”
“They haven’t told who what?” I asked.
Dad looked as if he wanted to reach across the table and strangle Fletcher. “We’re her parents, and we’ll make that decision. It’s nobody else’s business.”
More riddles. More cryptic messages. Now Mom and Dad were joining in on the fun. “What decision? What are you talking about?” Obviously the “her” was me.
Fletcher’s eyes shifted from Mom to Dad. “You’re not her parents. You can’t be. You smell different.”
“What?” I asked. “Fletcher, what are you talking about?”
“They’re not your parents,” he repeated.
Paige burst into giggles. “I knew it. Didn’t I tell you, Quinn? I always knew Mom and Dad found Arden in a dumpster behind the Reject Factory.”
I threw my napkin at her. “Shut up, Paige.”
“Girls,” Mom warned.
Dad pointed to the door, glaring at Fletcher. “Out now.”
Fletcher looked confused for a moment as if he didn’t understand why he was being thrown out. Then he put the three rolls he hadn’t eaten back into the bread basket and stood up. “Thanks for inviting me. Good evening.” It sounded so stiff and robotic I could tell his mother had told him to say it.
Why had Dad gotten so angry? What Fletcher said was so ridiculous you couldn’t even be bothered by it. It was like a two-year-old calling you poopy head. Something like that was too silly to be angry about.
I followed him out of the kitchen. “Fletch, wait.” But he didn’t stop. He stormed through the front door, outside, and up the walkway.
“Fletcher, I’m so sorry. My parents—”
He stopped and spun around. “I told you. Those people are not your parents.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because it’s the truth. I’m telling you they’re not your parents.”
“Fletcher!”
His gaze traveled back to our house. “I have to go. He’s watching.”
I turned to see my father on the porch, watching us. When I turned back around, Fletcher was already running down the street as if he couldn’t get away from our house fast enough. I felt guilty because I had talked Fletcher into coming over when he really hadn’t wanted to, and my family hadn’t even given him a chance.
“I want you to stay away from that kid,” Dad said when I made it back to the porch. I wasn’t going to argue with him, but there was no way he was going to keep me and Fletcher apart. I wanted to ask him why he had gotten so angry, but the hardened look on his face told me to drop the subject.
Back at the table, Mom fished out the rolls Fletcher had touched from the bread basket, and Paige and Quinn laughed so hard they struggled to breathe. “Wow, your only friend is a mental defective,” Paige said once she finally managed to speak.
At that moment I wished what Fletcher had said about my parents was right, because if Mom and Dad weren’t my parents, then Paige and Quinn weren’t my sisters.
Monday Fletcher acted as if nothing had happened the day before, and I was glad because I wanted to forget the whole fiasco. I’d spent the rest of my Sunday night working on my language arts assignment—a persuasive essay. The essay could be about anything, but we had to try to convince someone to do or think something.
Mrs. Amparo stood at her podium. “We’ll start at the tail end of the alphabet this time. Mr. Whitelock, you’re up first.”
I took a deep breath. Fletcher reading assignments out loud often ended in him being laughed at because he always said or did something completely off the wall. I hoped he didn’t embarrass himself, not that Fletcher was ever embarrassed, but when people laughed at him, I was ashamed for him.
Fletcher stood at the front of the room, holding his paper in front of him. People snickered, sitting on the edges of their seats, waiting for the show. As usual, Fletcher didn’t appear to notice or care.
He cleared his throat. “Title. Why I like dust and why you should too.”
By then the laughter was more evident. Mrs. Amparo rapped on her desk with a ruler. “Enough.”
Mrs. Amparo wasn’t one to be played with,
so immediately the laughter stopped and Fletcher continued. “When people think of dust, they think of the dirt that accumulates on objects and surfaces. This type of dust seems trivial and unimportant, but there are different types of dust. Many types of dust are beautiful and special. One kind is fairy dust. Obviously fairy dust is used by fairies and possesses magical properties. Fairies use fairy dust to do incredible things.
“Another type of dust that is very beneficial to us is gold dust. Gold dust is fine particles of gold. It can be very valuable and beautiful. And then there’s stardust . . .”
By then everyone struggled to hold in their giggles as Mrs. Amparo looked around disapprovingly. They weren’t laughing at Fletcher’s words but laughing because they knew he was doing it for me.
“Class,” Mrs. Amparo warned, and the laughing stopped a little.
Fletcher went on and on about the different types of dust and the wonderful things they do. I probably should have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t. I thought the fact that he had dedicated his essay to making me feel better was sweet.
During lunch, Fletcher and I sat at an abandoned picnic area we’d discovered on the other side of the school. It was far away from the cafeteria and the restrooms, so it was deserted. We had to leave a minute or two before the bell rang to make it to class on time.
I sat on the table close to Fletcher as we both devoured turkey sandwiches. “Thanks for what you did in class today.”
Fletcher nodded. “I just wanted you to know that all dust is not a bad thing. But I still think if it bothers you, you should say something so they’ll stop.”
That would never happen. They’d called me Dust for over two years now. I’d grown used to it anyway.
The words Fletcher had said earlier during his speech were etched in my mind. “Did you mean those things? What you said?”
Fletcher looked at me. “Of course I did. I wouldn’t have said them if I hadn’t meant them. Mrs. Amparo only gave me a B though. Maybe I wasn’t persuasive enough.”
At that moment, I couldn’t help myself. His lips were just too pink and perfect—looking as if they were begging to be kissed. I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. His lips were soft and warm. He didn’t pull back or flinch with disgust. I pulled away first, looking at him hopefully.
He watched me for a moment and then looked down at the remainder of his sandwich. “Arden, I can’t love you.”
Despite Fletcher rejecting me once again, I went to sleep dreaming of fairy dust.
Part 2
What I Really Am
Chapter Ten
We had been in school for six weeks, and fall was in full force. Most kids had moved on from the crayfish fiasco, although some felt obligated to bring it up from time to time when there was nothing better to talk about.
Bailey had somehow fallen back into Lacey’s good graces, and she and the other bees acted as if nothing had ever happened, but that was typical of Girl World.
Needless to say, I was stunned on Monday afternoon when Bailey joined Fletcher and me for lunch in our private lunch area.
“Hey guys,” she said a little too cheerfully. She plopped herself on the table, leaving me sandwiched between her and Fletcher.
I was busy gnawing on a piece of beef jerky I had brought from home, and I suddenly wished it was something else because I must have looked like some kind of animal. Much to Mom’s dismay, I had developed a taste for the stuff, and it had replaced my beloved trail mix. She told me I looked like a cow when I ate it.
“Hey, Bailey,” I said.
Fletcher shoveled spaghetti into his mouth and ignored Bailey as usual. For some reason, he had never liked her. She seemed to bug him more than Ranson did, and she had never done anything to him. It was confusing, but I was resigned to the fact that there were just some things I would never understand about Fletcher Whitelock.
“What are you doing here?” Fletcher mumbled finally. It might have sounded rude, but I had been about to ask the same thing. After the day I swallowed a crayfish, Bailey not only ignored me, she actually changed directions when she saw me coming her way as if I had some kind of contagious disease. Maybe she thought I was going to swallow her too.
Bailey opened the plastic container of her salad. “I just wanted to catch up with my girl.” She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “It’s been a long time, huh?”
Why was she acting as if our separation happened by accident as opposed to her making things the way they were? “What do you want, Bailey?”
She stabbed her fork into a tomato that looked like it had seen better days. As a matter of fact, all the veggies in her salad looked to be on their last legs. “I miss you, Arden. I really do. I know we kind of took separate paths and made new friends, but we’ve been besties since the second grade. We shouldn’t just cut each other off like that. It’s not right.”
I couldn’t keep my jaw from dropping. “Bailey, are you kidding me? We’re not friends anymore because you like to pretend that I don’t exist. Don’t put that on me.”
Her cheeks reddened. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. Hey, want to have a sleepover this Friday night at your house? It would be just like old times.”
I was tempted to decline just to teach her a lesson, but I hadn’t had a sleepover since the one I’d had with Bailey in the eighth grade. As usual, I had no plans other than working on a dress. Sometimes Fletcher was around on the weekends, and other times he was nowhere to be found. He didn’t even answer his phone most of the time. When I asked him what he had been doing, he would say he’d spent the whole weekend binge watching some show on Netflix.
Bailey gave me a timid smile. At least she was trying, and the least I could do was meet her halfway. She had been a good friend to me once, and I missed having a girl friend. Aside from that, Mom would be ecstatic, and pleasing her had been almost impossible those days. “Sure. It’ll be fun.”
I was already picturing us talking about boys late into the night. Pigging out on snacks and doing each other’s hair and nails like we used to.
“Great,” Bailey said, closing up her salad. “Listen, I gotta run. I’ll see you Friday night. I can’t wait.”
Before I could say anything, she was striding away from the table, no doubt heading back to Lacey. Fletcher watched her over his shoulder. “Don’t get your hopes up about that one,” he said.
Maybe he was right, but I wrote his comment off as jealousy. Sometimes I thought he didn’t like Bailey because he wanted to be my only friend.
Before my much-anticipated sleepover with Bailey, I had to endure another therapy session with Scarlett. This one seemed to go on forever, probably because I wanted it to end before it began, but it turned out to be . . . eventful. Okay, it was downright horrible, and I was pretty sure Scarlett would never want to see me again. We had a fight because she spent the whole time acting like I was some kind of stupid pushover.
“You seem to be in a good mood today,” she remarked as I lay across her comfy couch. I was busy finding more ways to die in that room, but I didn’t feel like going into the death thing that day. I was getting my friend back. I told her all about Bailey and our sleepover. For some reason, Scarlett didn’t seem happy for me. She looked at me and pursed her lips.
“What?” I asked. “You’re the one who wanted me to make new friends.”
“I did. New friends, and that’s not exactly what Bailey is.” Scarlett paused for a moment. “I’m a little concerned about your neediness when it comes to her.”
I sat up. “Excuse me? My what?” I had been called a lot of things, but never needy.
“Your neediness. You seem to be desperate for some kind of attention from people who have told you they can’t give it to you.”
Why was she making me sound like some kind of loser begging for love? That wasn’t what I was doing, was it?
“So,” Scarlett continued. “Let’s talk about Bailey. She’s spent over two years ignoring you for no good reason, according to yo
u. Now she wants to hang out, and you just take her back with no questions asked?”
My cheeks warmed. “Bailey messed up, but if she wants to fix things, it’s my choice whether or not I want to forgive her. We were best friends for seven years. She was more like a sister to me than my real sisters are, so I can’t just write her off that easily. It’s not like I have a crowd of people banging on my door wanting to be my friend.” Okay, maybe that sounded needy.
Scarlett typed something on her laptop while not taking her eyes off me. How did she do that? “I’m not saying you shouldn’t give her a chance, Arden. I just want you to think and be aware. How should a real friend treat you? People can’t use and take advantage of you unless you let them.”
I shrugged. No one was taking advantage of me, and I wanted her to stop speaking to me as if I were stupid.
“Do you still have a crush on your friend Fletcher?”
I shuddered. I hadn’t told her about Fletcher, but I had written about him in my journal. She must have read more of it than I thought. Why did I have to write down everything? “A little, but I know it can’t happen.”
“There you go. Fletcher was very forthright and honest with you. He told you that he didn’t see you in that way, so why haven’t you moved on?”
“You say it like it’s so easy. I can’t just shut off my feelings. And Fletcher didn’t say that he didn’t like me like that, he said he couldn’t. He’s not capable.”
Scarlett gave me a small smile. “Do you really believe that? That he’s incapable of loving someone. Humans just aren’t built that way.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Scarlett had never met Fletcher, and if she had, she would have noticed immediately that he actually was wired differently and very well could have been telling the truth. Of course I hadn’t told her how Fletcher had healed himself that day in front of Gerdy’s, but if she knew about that, she might believe what I was telling her.
A Girl Called Dust Page 8
