Looking for Cassandra Jane (The Second Chances Novels)

by Melody Carlson

  Then he chuckled. “Well, you don’t exactly seem like the kind of kid who’d get too bent out of shape over some old fogies smoking a joint or two, now would you?”

  I shrugged. “Well, you just never know, do you? Like my grandma used to say, you should never judge a book by its cover.”

  He scowled darkly. “What’re you getting at, Cassandra?”

  I was surprised he actually knew my name. “Well, this is supposed to be a foster home.” I said the words as if they should mean something dignified, respectable.

  He frowned and snuffed out his half-smoked cigarette in a nearby ashtray that I’d already emptied. “Don’t you like it here?”

  I shrugged again. “I can take it or leave it.”

  Now he looked defensive. “You could’ve done a lot worse, you know.”

  “I don’t know. Right now I feel like I’m pretty much a slave around here. And to be honest, I don’t really like that.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it could seem like that.” He scratched his head. “Well, let’s talk then. Is there anything we can do to make it better for you? Kelly seems pleased with you. She says you’ve been doing a really good job.”

  Now I laughed. “I’ll bet she does.” I glanced around the yard and sighed deeply. That’s when it occurred to me that maybe I should just be up-front with this guy. “The thing is, Mr. Glenn, I don’t think I can keep all this up and expect to get good grades, too. Besides that, I wanted to get a part-time job and start saving up for a car or college or something. And I’d kind of like to have a life too, you know.”

  He nodded, realization sinking in. “Yeah, that seems fair enough.” He picked up an empty soda can and tossed it into my bag. “Okay, how about this then—how about if you don’t take that part-time job, just for now anyway, but maybe we could let you keep the CSD money—that is, as long as you keep doing a good job with the housecleaning. That sound fair to you?”

  I kept my face blank, unwilling to reveal just how good it did sound. “I guess so. Just as long as the housework doesn’t interfere with my school.” I paused, suddenly realizing that I held all the cards here. “And as long as I can have a little life of my own, too. I don’t want to spend every free hour cleaning up this place.”

  “That seems fair enough.”

  “And you’ll explain all this to Mrs. Glenn?”

  He nodded, then stuck out his hand. “Deal?”

  I shook his hand, not entirely sure what I was agreeing to, but fairly certain that for once in my life I had the upper hand.

  I wasn’t too sure what God thought about blackmail—or about me, for that matter—but I felt I was on my own in those days, and once I took matters into my own hands, it seemed that things began to look up. As expected, it took most of the day to clean the house and yard, and when Mrs. Glenn finally got up she was in a grumpy mood and didn’t seem to even notice how greatly the appearance of her home had improved. I wished I’d taken “before” and “after” photos, but at least her husband had noticed, and he seemed to appreciate my efforts.

  Finally, it was nearly five, and everything was pretty much back to normal, so I slipped back downstairs to clean myself up and get ready for the dance, no longer feeling so intimidated for going solo. All day long I’d looked forward to this event, and I played rock tunes on my little transistor radio as I tried on a number of outfits, finally deciding on my old fuchsia-colored, tie-dyed shirt and my bib overalls with the embroidery across the front. I slipped in some big hoop earrings and let my hair just hang loose for a change—it was past my waist now. I slipped on my sandals and decided I’d stop to pick some flowers to put into my hair (I’d noticed an empty lot just a few blocks away that was overgrown with weeds and wild-flowers).

  Just as I turned off my radio, I noticed my Bible again and felt a strange little twisting in my heart—as if my recent actions were somehow a deliberate choice to turn away from God. Although that’s not exactly how I felt—I felt more like I was trying to find out who I really was—and if God was really real and wanted to take me for who I really was, well, then that would be just fine. But I was tired of playing games.

  I stopped by the Dairy Maid and ordered myself a burger basket and Coke, then sat down at an outside picnic table to leisurely eat while I observed others coming and going, ordering sundaes and dipped cones and corn dogs.

  A tall guy with shaggy, light brown hair caught my attention as he ordered a large Coke from the outside window. Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Finally, I realized he was Jimmy Flynn, a boy who’d been fairly popular back in junior high (he used to go with Sally Roberts) but had moved away in ninth grade. Sally had been brokenhearted and pined away for him—for at least a week—until she started going steady with Tom Morrow. I noticed Jimmy looking my way and decided to grace him with a smile.

  “Don’t I know you?” he said as he carried his Coke over to my table.

  I laughed. “Probably not. But I think I know you. Aren’t you Jimmy Flynn?”

  He smiled, a really great smile with white teeth framed in a tanned face. “I mostly go by Jim now. But who are you? You look familiar.”

  “Just a nobody. I’m sure you don’t remember me.”

  “Mind if I sit?”

  “Hey, it’s a free country.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder—an act of nonchalance, or so I hoped. “My name’s Cass Maxwell, and if you remember me at all, you probably wouldn’t be sitting here for long.”

  His eyes lit up. “Yeah, I do remember you. Didn’t your dad try to kill you once back in junior high school?”

  I forced a grin to my face. “Yep, that’d be me. And just for the record, he tried to kill me again, just last spring. But here I am, alive and well. Sort of well, I guess.” I frowned. “Now I’ll excuse you if you want to politely stand up and leave. And don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “No way, Cass. I’m not leaving. In fact, I think you’re interesting.” He smiled again. “And a lot more real than most girls I know.”

  At first I thought he might be putting me on, but his smile seemed authentic. Still, you never know. It was my experience that kids could be extremely cruel. Especially the popular ones. I decided to keep my guard up—just a little. “So,” I began, “didn’t you move away back in junior high?”

  He nodded. “Yep, but this summer my mom and me decided to move back here.”

  “Just your mom and you?”

  “Yep. My parents split up last year, and my brother Bill’s in college, so it’s just me and my mom, and since her sister lives here in Brookdale, we decided why not just come back.”

  “That’s cool. I’ll bet Sally Roberts is flying high—you guys used to be quite an item. Does she know you’re back yet?”

  He grinned. “Yep. I’ve seen her a couple times.”

  “You guys back together then?” I dipped a fry in ketchup, thinking how Sally would react if she could see her sweet Jimmy sitting with me now.

  “Not really. I kind of wanted to just hang out for a while, not get too tied down, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m used to being a pretty free spirit, too.” I watched him from the corner of my eye as I picked out the onions from my burger (so much for requesting no onions). But I could sense him checking me out and I wondered what he really thought.

  He reached across the table and touched the daisy I’d tucked into my hair. “Yep, that’s just what I thought when I first saw you sitting here by yourself.”

  “Why’s that?” I tried not to look as uncomfortable as I was starting to feel.

  “Well, a girl has to be pretty sure of herself to sit all by herself and eat at the Dairy Maid. I can’t imagine Sally ever doing that. She doesn’t go anywhere without her little throng of worshipers.”

  I laughed. “I guess I never thought of it that way. But you could be right. The truth is, I really do like being with people, but I’m used to being alone, too. And I suppose I kind of
like being alone sometimes.” I looked at him. “But not always.”

  “So what’re you into then, Cass?”

  “Into?” I thought for a moment. “Life’s been so crazy lately that I don’t know if I’m even sure anymore. But I do like doing art, sketching and stuff. And I really like music. I play the guitar and make up songs and stuff.” I glanced at my watch. “In fact, I was going to go hear Pete’s band play at the dance tonight.”

  His brows lifted. “Want any company? Or is this one of those things you’d rather do by yourself?”

  I laughed. “No one really wants to go to a dance alone, do they? Truth is, I’ve only been back in town about a week. And I feel like I don’t know anyone around here anymore. I’d love to have company, that is—” I stopped myself.

  “That is, what?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly the Sally Roberts type, if you know what I mean.”

  “That’s cool with me.”

  And that’s how it came to be that I showed up at the Labor Day dance with Jimmy (or rather, Jim) Flynn. And for the first time in my life, I felt more than subhuman in my own hometown. Of course Sally Roberts and her girlfriends snubbed me something terrible. But Jim treated me just like an equal, and pretty soon some of his old friends joined us, and they treated me just fine, too. Toward the end of the dance, Tom Banks asked us if we wanted to come to a kegger down at the levy, but to my pleased surprise Jim announced that he didn’t drink. “You go ahead if you want, Cass,” he said.

  I shook my head. “No thanks, I don’t drink either.”

  “Oh, please, don’t tell me you two are Jesus freaks?” teased Tom.

  Jim just laughed, and I felt guilty for not speaking up. But what could I have said? That I’d gone forward in a little country church and been baptized in a muddy river? What did all that really mean in the end? Where had believing in God gotten me? And did I even believe anymore? So I didn’t say anything.

  Jim asked me if I wanted to get coffee after the dance, and so we went to Nellie’s, which brought back a flood of memories from that last conversation I’d had with Joey. I remembered his concern and realized how he was right. And in that moment I missed him more than ever.

  I suppose I was being pretty quiet, and finally Jim spoke up. “You okay, Cass? You look kind of sad.”

  “I was just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  And then to my complete amazement, I sat there in Nellie’s Diner and told Jim Flynn all about my life of late—living with the Crowleys and my “God” experience, then Roy’s death, my doubts, and finally living as a servant with the Glenns.

  “Man, and I thought my life had been kinda rough last year,” he said after I finished.

  I made myself laugh. “I’m sorry, Jim. Talk about a blabbermouth. I can’t believe you didn’t just excuse yourself and slip out the back exit.”

  “No, I think it’s interesting. I feel honored you told me all that. I feel like I really know you now. Man, Cass, you’ve been through a lot.”

  I shook my head. “Yeah, and that’s just the recent stuff. Sometimes I feel like there’s this old woman underneath my skin—like I’ve really been living for about a hundred years, but I just happen to look like a sixteen-year-old.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. But maybe it’s just the times we live in. You know stuff is going on all over the world that just doesn’t make sense. Sometimes I wonder why we all don’t just tune out and turn on.”

  Now that made me laugh for real. “So, what’s your story, Jim? I was surprised that you don’t drink. I assume that means you don’t do drugs, either. What makes you want to be straight?”

  He shrugged. “Well, for one thing, I promised my mom I wouldn’t. I got into trouble before we moved here—for drinking. I guess I’m trying to make a fresh start. I might even go out for football.”

  Now this surprised me. With his long hair and fringed leather vest, Jim didn’t really seem like the jock type. “You play football?”

  “I used to. My mom really wants me to take it up again. She thinks it’ll keep me out of trouble.”

  I laughed. “That just shows how much parents know about jocks and sports.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “That’s when I first started drinking, you know, celebrating after the games.”

  “Well, Jim, I hope you do what you want to do—not just what your mom wants you to do. We’ve got to be real and become our own people, you know. In the end, that’s all we’ve really got, anyway.”

  He held up his coffee mug as if to make a toast. “Yeah, here’s to becoming our own people.”

  I grinned as I clicked my cup against his.

  Eleven

  Returning to Brookdale High wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d anticipated that day when I’d sat with Suzy out on the Crowley’s front porch. My friendship with Jim proved a real icebreaker during those first few days. And while we weren’t exactly dating, I sensed the relationship was building into something more. But by the end of the week Jim announced that he’d decided to go out for football.

  I don’t know exactly why this disturbed me so greatly, but it did. I asked him if it was because of his mom, but he insisted it was just something he wanted to do and the coach had agreed to let him come try out even though the team had been practicing for a month already. Naturally Jim made the team—he was actually pretty good. I figured this meant he and I would be history now. And wasn’t it handy that Sally Roberts was a varsity cheerleader? She’d be right out there on the fifty-yard line jumping and screaming for him to S-C-O-R-E at every single game.

  But during the second week Jim still showed no interest in Sally Roberts and continued to seek me out at lunchtime and after school. Toward the end of the week he asked me if I was coming to his first game. “Sure,” I said, wondering why, since I’d never really liked football that much before.

  His eyes lit up. “And then afterwards maybe we can go out for a bite to eat.”

  “Sure,” I said again, halfway expecting him to change his mind by then, mentally preparing myself to see Sally Roberts hanging on his arm after the game. I went to the game and watched the Brookdale Bullets narrowly defeat the Harris Cowboys, cheering for Jim from the stands, and to my surprise almost enjoying it.

  Afterwards I stood outside the locker room (along with a bunch of other girls—none of whom spoke to me) waiting for Jim to come out. I must confess, I felt silly and out of place and almost left before Jim came out and even then I felt stupid and self-conscious and didn’t know if I could do this again. But then we went out for pizza and when I was with Jim people treated me like I really was someone. Even though that was a welcome change I didn’t like thinking that the only reason they were nice to me was because of him. The whole thing troubled me a lot.

  The weirdest thing about that evening was when several kids who were well known as “Jesus freaks” came over to our table and started trying to evangelize us. I knew that some of these kids were the same ones Joey had hung out with last year but I pretended not to recognize them. Finally one of them, a tall, gangly boy, pointed his finger right at me. “Aren’t you Cass Maxwell, Joey Divers’s friend?”

  Well, I couldn’t very well say no, so I just nodded mutely.

  “Oh, go on, you guys,” said Jim good-naturedly. “Go on and convert someone else tonight.”

  “Joey Divers had us all praying for you last spring,” said the guy, with an earnest look in his eyes. “Hey, Sara, Mitch, you guys,” he called over his shoulder. “Remember how we were all praying for that Cass Maxwell chick last spring? Well, this is her—she’s right here!”

  And then about five of them came over and stood before our table, all staring at me as if I were some sort of sideshow freak in a circus.

  “You guys need to just lay off,” said Jim, suddenly standing up. A couple of the other football guys at our table stood too.

  I instantly felt a mixture of gratitude and shame. Grateful and proud that Jim was standing up to defend me,
but embarrassed that I was spurning these religious friends of Joey who had actually prayed for me. “You guys really prayed for me?” I said, surprising even myself.

  “Yeah,” said the girl named Sara. “Joey was real worried about you. One day we all got together and prayed around the clock—all night too.”

  “Really?” I said, feeling a strange little twist in my heart.

  “Okay, that’s just great,” said Jim sarcastically. “Cass really appreciates your concern. Now can you just clear out of here and let us finish our pizza in peace?”

  As they started to back off I looked up into their faces and said, “Thanks.”

  “Man, what a bunch of jerks,” said Scott Taylor (one of Jim’s football buddies). “Those Jesus freaks are really starting to get out of hand.”

  “Yeah,” said Jim. “But you gotta admire their nerve.”

  “Nerve?” said a girl named Tammy. “Don’t you mean nerd?”

  Everyone laughed. Everyone but me.

  Jim drove me home that night in his mom’s car, parking just down the street a ways from the Glenn’s house—as I’d asked him to do. “You okay, Cass?” he asked as we sat in the darkened car. “You seem pretty quiet tonight.”

  I shrugged. “I guess I’m just feeling a little out of place and trying to figure some things out.”

  He slipped his arm around my shoulders and slid me over next to him. “That’s one of the many things I really like about you, Cass. The way you give me an honest answer and think about things more deeply than other girls.”

  I turned and looked into his eyes—I could feel his breath on my face and suddenly felt a strange but not unpleasant shiver run through me. “It’s the only way I can be,” I said softly.