by Kieran Scott
“Katrina?” Her voice was thick with sleep.
Bad idea. This was a really bad idea.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, hating the hopeful sound of my voice.
“What is it?” she snapped. “I was sleeping.”
My fingers hurt from gripping the phone. “I know, I . . . there’s something I wanted to tell you.”
She sighed. “Well? What?”
Why was I doing this? Why? Why had I hit HOME? “I—I found out I’m going to be moved back into honors English.”
Dead silence. “That’s . . . really? That’s great.”
My heart was about to burst. “Yeah? I mean, yeah. I know. I was just sitting in the library and Ms. Day came in and I—”
“Was that it? That’s the only reason you’re calling?” she interjected.
I swallowed hard. “Um, yeah. I—”
“Okay then. Let me go before I’m too awake to fall back to sleep.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Katrina,” she sighed. “Please don’t give me that tone. I just worked a twenty-hour shift. We can talk about this when you get home.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her words were clipped. “Or is this your way of telling me you’re not coming home? Again.”
“I—I didn’t—”
“I’m going back to sleep.”
The line went dead. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Trembling, I gritted my teeth and hit Ty’s name on the contact screen. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, baby,” he said. There was laughter in the background. And clanging. And the sound of hip-hop on the stereo. “Look, it doesn’t look like I’m gonna get there at four. The garage is slammed. You might hafta walk home.”
“Oh,” I said, my bottom lip trembling. Didn’t he remember I didn’t want to go home? But then, he was busy. And I didn’t want him to think I was some crazy, needy girl. “Um . . . okay.”
“You okay?” he asked, as the sound of a buzz saw squealed through the speaker.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound bright. “I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later.”
There was a huge crash. “Asshole!” he shouted. “What the f—”
I hung up. I thought about calling Raine, but she had a job too—at her father’s pizza place—and had a shift right after school. I felt suddenly and completely alone.
Someone breezed by me down the stairs, so close my hair whipped up. I looked around at the trees, their green leaves rustling in the wind. The JV football team was loading onto a big yellow school bus. A mom herded a girl and her friends, toting matching duffels from the local ballet school into her minivan. A pack of skater kids hung out on the concrete steps to the staff parking lot, sucking on Blow Pops and flipping tricks. Everyone was doing something fun. Everybody seemed happy. So what the hell was wrong with me? Why did I have to feel like this?
That was when I spotted Charlie, loping down the hill next to the gym. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, his blond hair matted with sweat, his cheeks red from exertion. He was yards away, but we locked eyes, and for a second, everything went away. The sorrow, the self-deprecation, the dread of going home. Everything. There was this inquisitive look in his eye, as if he knew something was wrong, even though that was fully impossible. I felt this sudden, irrational urge to talk to him, to tell him everything. I even started to raise my hand to wave, with no clue what I’d say if he waved back.
Then someone shouted and he stopped. A girl stepped out from behind the gym. Stacey Halliburn. One of Cara’s friends, who I also used to have classes with. She jogged up to Charlie in her flippy plaid skirt and her adorable flat shoes. They grinned and kept walking. Together. Not holding hands, but together.
My heart sank. Clearly I was imagining things. He probably hadn’t even been looking at me, and now they were getting closer. I could even hear Stacey giggling.
I ducked my head before they could catch me staring and turned around to walk, as slowly as I possibly could, toward home.
CHAPTER TEN
Charlie
“So then last year they told us that we were going to get to go play at Disney World on Thanksgiving, but then when the school year started they said it wasn’t in the budget and instead we were going to Hershey in the spring,” Stacey babbled. “And we were all like, ‘Boo!’ You can’t tell people they’re going to Florida and then bus them to Pennsylvania. Is that not so wrong?”
I didn’t answer. My mouth was full of Oreo cupcake. “Goddess” had turned out to be Goddess Cupcakes, where apparently, every kid my age in a forty-mile radius went to hang out after school. Yeah, I was at the cool hangout. A place I’d never even found at my last school. And not only had I not gotten my butt kicked today, I was now a varsity athlete. Which meant I had the potential to have actual friends. To not sit alone at lunch every day. To maybe even be looked up to like my brothers always were. And to top it off, I was hanging out with a girl. A pretty, smart, musically inclined girl who seemed to like me.
There was this odd feeling inside my chest, and I kept smiling. If my brothers could see me now, they would die. Or fall on the floor laughing. Probably both.
Stacey and I were crammed into a tiny table in the corner. Four guys in green-and-yellow baseball jackets from St. Joe’s hovered nearby. They were waiting to take our table and clearly talking about me. Being my dad’s kid sometimes meant being a quasi celebrity.
“Anyway, Mr. Roon is a total jerk.” Stacey sipped her water. She hadn’t touched her hummingbird cupcake. Which made no sense. This Oreo cake was the best thing I’d ever tasted.
“I don’t know. He seemed nice,” I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin.
The edges of Stacey’s cheeks turned pink. “Oh, yeah. I mean, yeah, he’s nice sometimes. But he can be a jerk.”
“Like how?” I asked, reaching for my water.
“How?”
“Yeah. I mean, how is he a jerk? Give me an example,” I prompted.
“Sorry. I didn’t know I was gonna get the third degree.”
Stacey flipped her braid behind her shoulder and took out her cell phone, which had a pink polka-dot case. She started texting and I squirmed. Behind her, the door opened with a jangle of bells, and Veronica and Darla walked in. I lifted a hand and Darla smiled, but Veronica shot Stacey this look. This kind of appalled look. She grabbed Darla and steered her toward the counter.
That was weird. What did Veronica have against Stacey?
“So. When’re you gonna get your varsity jacket?” Stacey asked, the smile suddenly reappearing. “You have to get the one with the leather sleeves. The wool one is so last millennium.”
“Um . . . I hadn’t thought about it,” I said.
Me. In a varsity jacket. I had to call Corey and Chris.
“When’s your first meet?” Stacey asked, her green eyes bright. She opened the calendar on her phone. “I’m totally coming. I’ll bring water and snacks. What’re good after-race snacks?”
I opened my mouth to respond but didn’t get a chance.
“Oh! I know! I make this homemade granola? It’s amazing!”
She typed a note into her phone.
“You should probably get new sneakers,” she said, eyeing my feet under the table. “I’m sending you a link to this coupon for Fleet Feet. They have the most amazing selection in town.”
My phone buzzed. I looked at the screen. It was from Stacey.
“How did you—”
“Get your number?” she asked. “I checked your phone while you were in the bathroom before. If we’re gonna hang out, I have to have your number.”
Suddenly my underarms started to sweat. She’d checked my phone? That meant she went into my backpack. That was kind of invasive. Maybe even stalker-level invasive. I found Darla and Veronica at a table in the far corner, splitting a pink cupcake. Veronica leaned in to whisper something to Darla. They were both watching us, and was it me, or did they look concerned?
Who the hell had True set me up with?
“So when’s your birthday?” Stacey asked, her thumbs hovering over her keyboard. “I make the coolest birthday cards from scratch. They’re amazing!”
“It’s, uh . . .”
Right then, the door to the shop opened and my dad walked in. I’d never been so happy to see those massive shoulders in my life. He wore a green polo shirt with the letters SJP embroidered on the chest, and his black SJP FOOTBALL cap covered his blond hair. He scanned the room, all wide chin and narrowed eyes.
“Dad!” I called, standing up and grabbing my stuff.
He nodded when he saw me. The crowd parted for him as he walked to our table. His whistle was tucked into the pocket of his chinos, the red cord dangling down the side of his leg.
“Thanks for coming to get me, sir,” I told him.
“Hang on a sec, son.” His breath smelled, as always, like peppermint. “Introduce me to your friend.”
“Sorry. Dad, this is Stacey. Stacey, this is my dad, David Cox.”
“So nice to meet you!” Stacey beamed, standing and offering her hand.
My dad flicked a smile, impressed. “Nice to meet you, too,” he said. “Now tell me, is it true that Charlie here tried out for the cross-country team?”
“And he made it!” Stacey eyed me proudly like we were a couple. “He ran a 5K in twenty-six minutes, fifty-eight seconds.”
I shook my head. “How did you—”
She turned her phone’s screen toward me. “I texted Brian and asked for your time. Our families are old friends.”
The Oreo cupcake turned in my stomach. Stalker. One hundred percent stalker.
“That’s an impressive time, son,” my dad said.
“Yeah. Can we go now, please?” I felt the sudden need to get away from Stacey as fast as humanly possible. Darla and Veronica were still watching, and I didn’t want them to get the idea that I was with Stacey. At least not until I figured out if she was crazy. It was still my first day, and I knew better than anyone that first impressions can make or break you. It’s not pretty, but it’s the truth.
“Sure. We need to go home and call your brothers,” my dad said. He turned to Stacey again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Stacey. I hope to see you again.”
“Oh, you will,” Stacey said, giving me a knowing smile.
No. You won’t, I added silently.
“Bye,” I said, practically pushing my dad toward the door.
Outside, I took a deep breath. The streets of downtown Lake Carmody were busy with shoppers, popping in and out of the artsy shops and restaurants. The sun shone and birds twittered in the trees that lined the sidewalk. Confronted with the normalcy, I started to think that maybe I had overreacted. Maybe Stacey really liked me, and shouldn’t I be glad that a smart, pretty girl like her liked me? Then my phone buzzed. I checked the screen. It was a text from Stacey.
MISS YOU ALREADY!
Ugh.
“Well, you’ve had quite a day, haven’t you?” my dad asked, looking me up and down with this sort of awed expression.
“I guess,” I replied.
“Are you kidding?” my dad bellowed, slapping me on the back “I almost peed my pants right in front of the team when I got your text!”
“Dad!” I said through my teeth. Two little old ladies shot him disapproving looks as they strolled by.
“I said, ‘Cross-country? My Charlie? No way.’ ”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I said, embarrassed.
“No. Let’s give credit where credit is due,” he said, giving me a half squeeze, half shake as he turned us up the sidewalk. I saw his red pickup parked near the curb. “You not only survived your first day at a new school, but came out of it with a spot on a varsity team and a very pretty girl. She in the band too? I saw she had one of those instrument cases.”
“Yeah. And the band was awesome,” I told him, slipping my backpack onto my shoulder. “Plus, the director loved my solo.” I chose not to tell him about the assholes in the drum corps. I felt hot and humiliated around the collar just thinking about it.
“That’s great, son. I’m glad things are finally working out for you,” my dad said, his eyes shining. “I’m really proud of you.”
I stared at him as he rounded the car, fishing his keys out of his pocket. My chest radiated warmth.
“What?” my dad asked, popping open the driver’s-side door.
“Nothing,” I replied.
But as I got in beside him, I had to bite down on my lip to keep from laughing. He was proud of me. My dad was proud of me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Katrina
I stood on the sidewalk outside our small split-level house and stared at the numbers next to the door, 777. My father had hand-screwed those numbers to the siding, smiling down at me from the top of the stepladder.
“It’s lucky, mija,” he’d told me, concentrating to make sure the screws went in straight. “Seven, seven, seven. As long as we live here, we’ll have good luck.”
A rock formed between my throat and my heart, threatening to suffocate me. I missed him until it hurt. I missed everything about him—the scratch of his five o’clock shadow atop my head when he hugged me, the musky-dusty scent of his clothes after a long day in the reporter’s room at the paper, the way his face lit up whenever he saw me.
Lenny Crisco, the guy who lived next door, zipped up to the gate in front of his house, dropped his bike against the fence, and bounded inside, letting the door slam behind him like it was nothing. And that was it. Right there. That was what I missed more than anything—being able to walk into my house without even thinking about it. Without knowing I would have to tiptoe around. Without being scared a screaming fight waited around every corner.
My mother and I had never fought before my dad died. Not once. She had always been kind of a tense person, but my dad always knew how to chill her out, how to make her smile—talents I was not blessed with. Now it was like I never knew when she might explode.
I could always go over to Ty’s and wait for him to get out of work, but the thought made me tired. Now that I was here, I realized that I wanted to be in my own room, in my own space. I wanted to sleep in my own bed and not listen to Ty and his friends playing World of Warcraft for hours on end. I wanted to be home. And besides, I was out of clean clothes.
I trudged up the brick steps, avoiding the one crumbling corner, and gathered up the pile of newspapers that had been collecting atop the worn welcome mat. As always, the door was unlocked. I pushed it open as quietly as possible, but it stuck when I closed it and I had to give it a shove. I flinched at the resounding bang. The air inside was stifling and stale. I heard my mother’s shuffling footsteps at the top of the stairs.
“You’re home.”
I turned around slowly. She was wearing her gray sweatpants and my dad’s Seton Hall sweatshirt, her dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail. A sleep crease zigzagged across one cheek.
“Hey,” I said, trying for a smile. “How was work?”
“Fine. Busy,” she said. “Two new babies in the NICU. I’m starving. What do we have to eat?”
She plodded down the steps to the kitchen. There was a time when my mother would kiss me on my forehead whenever I came home. When she’d hug me. When she’d ask to see my homework and ooh and aah over my poems.
I could hardly remember it anymore, but I knew it had happened. I dropped my backpack at the top of the stairs leading to the basement and followed her. She slammed the refrigerator and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I thought you were going to the supermarket,” she snapped.
My throat was tight. Should have seen that coming. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time.”
“Why? Because you were too busy sleeping around?” she demanded, walking to the cabinet and taking out a box of Ritz crackers. She banged the door shut and went rummaging in the pantry.
“Mom! I’m not sleeping around!” I protested. This was what she was like now. I did one thing wrong and suddenly sh
e was on me like a pit bull about everything. “I have one boyfriend. One.”
“Who lives with a houseful of hoodlums,” she said, emerging with a half-empty jar of peanut butter.
“They’re not hoodlums,” I said with a sigh, leaning back against the counter.
“Don’t you sigh at me!” she shouted, opening and slamming a drawer. “How am I supposed to know what they are or what they’re not? You’re never here! You never introduce your friends to me. I’ve barely said two words to this boy, and now he has you forgetting to go grocery shopping. You have responsibilities around here, Katrina. I can’t do everything myself.” Her body seemed to shake as she spread peanut butter on a cracker. It splintered between her fingers and she flung it into the sink, then reached for another. “Do you even realize that I’ve spent twenty long hours at the hospital? Is it so much to ask that there be milk for my coffee and something to eat other than this crap?”
Tears stung my eyes as she shoved a cracker into her mouth. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Forget it,” she said with her mouth full, gathering everything up in her arms and storming past me. “I’m taking this up to my room.”
“Mom, wait,” I said, my voice cracking. “We can go to the supermarket now. We can still make something. We can get burgers. Or I can make that fried chicken you like?”
She paused at the bottom of the steps, and her head fell forward. For a split second I felt hope. She was going to say yes. We were going to have a normal night. We could buy those biscuits that come in the blue sleeve and maybe even make a salad. Then I would tell her about my first day of school and how shocked I was to be asked back into honors English. Maybe I’d even tell her about Charlie. And Zadie, too, of course. The idea of me, having potential new friends might make her feel better about Ty.
“It’s too late,” she said. “I’m tired.” She looked over her shoulder at me, and I could see the red veins shot through her eyes. “Go make it for your boyfriend.”
