“I don’t think his sign is illegal.” Stupid. Humiliating. Possibly a big joke from the dark side, but not illegal.
Budge opens his mouth, then stops. He digs into his silky back pocket and pulls out a phone. “Smile! This baby’s totally going on Facebook.”
I make a grab for the phone, but the sandwich board slows me down. “You jerk! When I get home, I’m going to—”
I’m interrupted by the rumbling sound of a motorcycle. Budge looks beyond my shoulder, his mouth gaping. “It’s—it’s her.”
I swing around as Ruthie McGee pulls her bike next to us. She kills the engine and whips off her helmet, her spiky hair miraculously bouncing right back into its place.
She reads my sign. “Nice motto. Catchy.”
“Is that tobacco in your mouth?” I stare at the wad she’s got between her cheek and gum.
“Beef jerky.”
“Classy.”
“Someone’s hacked my MySpace page and sent out all these bad notes about me—complete with pictures. Are you on the job or aren’t you?”
It’s really hard to have an intelligent conversation with someone when you’re wearing a sign about the farting dangers of wieners.
“Look, I’ve had some developments with another situation. I haven’t forgotten about you, Ruthie.”
“Someone’s out to destroy my reputation. Someone with killer computer skills.”
My eyes shift to Budge. “I know someone like that.”
“I’m not an evil mastermind. I use my skills for the good.” Budge’s face softens as he gazes at Ruthie. “I can’t imagine anyone hurting you.”
She switches her jerky wad to the other cheek. “Really?”
Budge nods. Then nods some more. “T–t–totally. Maybe I could help you?”
“What’d you have in mind?”
“I’d have to take a look at your computer, but we might be able to trace the hacker back to his or her own computer. I get off work at seven.”
She turns the key on her bike and revs the engine. “Be at my house at eight.” She jabs her gloved finger in his vest. “And don’t be late. This is the night I reserve for my flute practice and poetry reading.”
Ruthie zooms away, and I don’t have to look at Budge to know he’s slack-jawed and moon-eyed.
I sigh and straighten my hat. “She could’ve at least bought a taco.”
chapter fourteen
Good morning, Tigers! This is Megan for Tiger TV with your Monday announcements.”
I read over some vocab words in English class, wishing I had studied more over the weekend. Between church, calculus homework, and a call from Hunter, I just ran out of time.
Hunter is being so incredibly nice. He always was a good boyfriend—well, minus the cheating part. But now he’s practically dream boyfriend material. Like he’s a little less self-absorbed, a little more humble, and . . . I have to admit I like the new Hunter. When I told him what I had going on at work and school, he actually listened.
“. . . And don’t forget to pick up your Match-and-Catch forms. Junior class officers will be passing them out in the caf during lunch. To get the results of your perfect Truman High mate, just pay ten dollars . . .”
I lean across the row and poke Budge in the shoulder. “Are you going to do that?”
He huffs, sending his red ’fro bouncing. “Dude, do I have loser written across my forehead?”
“So that’s a yes?”
“The day I fill one of those out is the day I wear girl’s underwear.”
At lunch I go find the Match-and-Catch table, knowing Lindy will be there.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“We’re being stampeded. Pass these out.” She shoves a stack of forms in my arms. “Don’t forget tonight’s the FCA ice skating party downtown.”
“Yeah, I have to work, so I’ll be there pretty late.” Tomorrow is dead day—a day to review in every class before finals start Wednesday. So to let off some steam before all the cramming begins, we’re having a Christmas party.
“Hey!” Ruthie McGee shoves her way to the front. “Have you seen Budge?”
“No, I—”
Ruthie spots him walking by, grabs him by the collar, and yanks him into the crowd. “Did you find anything out yet?”
Budge blinks a few times. “Um . . . I . . . haven’t really found much information for you. I’m still working on it.”
She tweaks a form out of my hand. “My boyfriend broke up with me when he saw the incriminating photo. I need a new man.” She stares down Budge. “Are you going to fill one out?”
His mouth opens like a fish. “I . . . was just coming here to get one. Bella, give me a Match-and-Catch form.”
I pass it to him. “Victoria’s Secret makes a nice panty, by the way.”
I return from my second night on the job smelling like one big taco. It’s saturated my hair, my pores, and permanently stuck up my nose. My fingers hurt from rolling burritos, and my poncho looks like I bathed in salsa. The working world is vicious.
I walk into our living room and find Moxie staring at a wall. She attacks an invisible prey, then walks away purring, her job done. Moxie doesn’t do higher-level thinking. We’re not real sure that my cat thinks at all.
After I shower off all the greasy gunk, I kiss Mom good-bye and drive downtown to where the ice rink is set up. Though it’s nearly nine, the party should still be in full swing.
I hear the Christmas music before I even shut off the car. Carrie Underwood sings about a winter wonderland. I shiver into my coat and find my friends.
“Bella!” Anna intercepts me as I pay for my skates. “Big news.”
“You were on America’s Most Wanted last night?”
Her scowl is filled with attitude. “Real cute. The charges were dropped.”
“Are you serious? That’s awesome.”
“They finally confirmed my alibi.”
“How?”
“Your brother took my laptop into the police station and was able to show them I was using the Wi-Fi at the Java Joint.”
“You mean Budge?”
“Yeah, I owe that boy. I mean, I knew we could prove I was there, but finding witnesses was going to take a while.”
“Who asked him to look at your laptop?”
“It was Luke Sullivan’s idea.”
“Really?” Why didn’t he mention it? “Um, I’m happy for you. I’m glad I didn’t go ahead and get you that nail file for Christmas.”
“You’re really cracking me up tonight, Kirkwood.”
I laugh at her sour tone and leave her to join Lindy and Matt.
“Hey, guys.” I sit down at a bistro table as Lindy and Matt sip hot chocolate. “How’s the rink?”
I peer over the edge to take it all in. Christmas trees stand all over the grounds. Chairs and tables sit under a row of canopies, with tiny white lights twinkling overhead. The oval rink glistens in front of us, and everyone from grandmothers to toddlers spin across the ice.
“Oh. I see Luke and his girlfriend are here.” My editor-in-chief skates next to his college girl. A silly stocking cap sits on her head, and her hair sprouts out in two juvenile pigtails.
She looks totally cool. And I want to thoroughly dislike her for it.
“Something wrong?” Lindy follows the trail of my stare.
I force my attention back to the table. “No.” I hope this smile is believable. “I’m just impressed with the rink. It’s cool the town creates this every winter. I mean, it’s no Rockefeller Center, but it’s pretty close.”
The up-tempo song ends, and a slow one takes its place. Couples filter onto the rink. I see Taylor rise up and kiss Luke on the cheek. They laugh, and he escorts her off the ice.
“You guys should go skate.” I nudge Lindy with my knee.
“I don’t know.” She braves a look at Matt. “Um . . . do you want to?”
He shrugs. “I guess.”
“Well, you don’t have to sound so excited.”
She huffs and walks away.
Matt stands up, ready to follow. “What was that about?”
“I don’t know,” I say innocently. “Maybe you shouldn’t sound like you’d rather eat live worms than skate with her.”
“We skate together every year. What’s the big deal?”
Boys. So dumb, yet so necessary in our world.
Matt joins Lindy on the ice, and after lacing up my skates, I make my way there as well. Sure it’s mostly couples, but who cares?
My blades wobble as I step down, but soon I’m steady and gaining speed. I weave through the crowd, the wind catching my hair. Tilting my head back, I fill my lungs with the crisp winter wind. A snowflake falls, then two. I stick out my tongue to catch the next one. After a few minutes, I hold out my arms and skate backwards, and when the speed feels right, I twist my body and pop into a jump.
I turn at the sound of clapping behind me.
“Is this a one-girl show, or can anyone join?”
“Hello, Luke.” I face forward again, skating on as if he’s not there.
I hear his blades slice to catch up. “You’re pretty good.”
I wave at some friends we pass.
“I said—”
“I heard you.”
His brow furrows. “Are you mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because you’re a girl, and that’s what you do.”
I know he’s just baiting me for a response, so I smile and hum along to the music.
“Do you know there’s a guy with a video camera over there?” He points across the rink where a man stands with a lens trained on me.
“Just ignore him. That’s what I do.”
“Like you’re ignoring me?”
I slow my skates. “Look, I’ve had a hard day of slinging tacos. Why don’t you go find your girlfriend and talk to her?”
That annoying smile returns to his face. The one he always gets when I mention Taylor the Genius Girlfriend. “She just left to meet some friends.”
I return to ignoring him. Doesn’t the Bible say if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all? No, wait. Not the Bible. My mom? The fortune cookie I ate last week?
“Bella.” Luke’s hand on my arm stops us both.
Couples swish around us as I study Luke’s face. There’s something there I can’t define.
“I’m not mad at you, Luke. I just wanted some time to skate.” I stare up at the sky and let the flakes collect on my lashes. “This makes me miss Manhattan, and I want to soak it all up.”
“I saw you talking to Anna.”
“You could’ve told me you were working with Budge and the police.”
He runs a hand through his black hair. “This isn’t your mystery to solve.”
“She asked me to clear her name.”
“I should think that car running us off the road would be enough motivation for you to stay out of it.”
“What, so you can be in danger, but I can’t?”
“You almost got killed the last time you stuck your nose in something here at Truman High.”
“Luke Sullivan . . . I think you’re worried about me.” Now it’s my turn for the sly grin.
His face is impassive. “You have a new assignment for the paper. I want you to interview sophomore Tracey Snively. She was student of the month.”
“No! You’re just trying to weasel me out of the missing funds story. Besides, Tracey Snively is that girl who has like thirty cats. And she smells like yams.”
“I’m the editor, and right now we have no missing funds story. And last time I checked, we still had a paper to publish.”
“Don’t shut me out of this. Anna came to me to clear her name. Ruthie came to me to get to the bottom of this. Not you.”
He pulls us to the side of the rink. “Ruthie McGee? What does she have to do with this?”
“Oh, gee. I’m sorry. But that’s something I’m working on all by myself.” I bat my lashes. “Can’t tell you.”
I skate away and rejoin Lindy and Matt. Since they aren’t in the throes of one big make-out session, I assume that Lindy didn’t declare her true feelings to her BFF, and Matt didn’t tell Lindy she’s the milk in his Cheerios.
An hour later, much of the crowd has gone home. I say goodbye to my friends, grab my purse, and walk to my car.
The Bug glistens with a diamond frost, and as I stick my key in the door, I notice it’s unlocked.
That’s funny. I always lock it. No, this isn’t the backstreets of New York where they’ll strip your car down to the caps, but still, a girl has to be careful.
Suddenly I’m very aware of how alone I am out in the gravel parking lot. Just me and a few cars.
I quickly open the door, and there on the seat is a piece of pink paper. The type is in a jagged font.
Bella,
I’m warning you to mind your own business. I’d hate to see you get caught in the path of what I want. Nothing will stop me —not even you.
A chill snakes down my spine.
And a hand settles on my shoulder.
I scream into the night air and jump straight up, my hands slapping out. “Back off! I know Pilates!”
“Bella.” Luke grabs my hands and pins them to his chest. “Bella!”
I melt into him and sigh in relief. “I totally knew it was you. I did.” Raising my head, I step back and put some distance between us. “What are you doing out here? I thought you’d left.”
His forehead wrinkles. “I was talking to some friends when I saw you walk off by yourself. Thought I’d make sure you got to your car okay.” His blue eyes zone in on the note. He takes it from me, and I notice my hands are shaking. So much for acting unaffected.
“How many of these have you received?” His gruff voice is like sandpaper to my nerves.
I snatch the note back. “I’m not feeding you any more information just so you can cut me out and get the story for yourself.”
“An answer, Bella.”
“Fine.” Why are boys so annoying? “This is the first. But it’s none of your concern.”
Luke’s fingers latch onto my shoulder again. “You’re my concern.”
I’m pulled in by the intensity of his eyes. He draws me closer to him, and my hands rest on his jacket.
His eyes drop to my lips.
I hold my breath, afraid to move.
Afraid he’s going to kiss me.
Terrified he’s not.
Beside us a car alarm wails, and we jolt apart.
I pan over Luke’s shoulder to see a black-haired man backing away from a Honda, his video camera drooping. “Shoot. I really needed that footage. I don’t suppose I can get you two to move in close again?”
We both stare.
“I didn’t think so.”
chapter fifteen
Mrs. Palmer hasn’t even started reviewing for our lit final, and I’m already counting the minutes. Why is it they have to ruin the few days leading up to break with finals? Forcing me to study until my brain oozes out does not make me want to break out in some “Deck the Halls.” But come Friday, I’ll be Manhattan bound and far away from tests and report cards, spending an early Christmas with my dad.
Budge lumbers into English class, his red curly hair shielding half his face. He glances around for a seat, and knowing the only one open is behind me, I wave my hand and pat his desk. With our work schedules, I haven’t gotten to talk to him at all. And stepbrother has some explaining to do.
I pounce as soon as he sits down. “Why didn’t you tell me you were working with Luke Sullivan?”
Budge picks a piece of lint off his “Frodo for President” t-shirt. “I didn’t know I had to report to you.”
“I was taking care of clearing Anna’s name. And Ruthie’s. I don’t need Luke’s help.”
He pulls a pencil from his fro. “I don’t do turf wars, but Luke has my loyalty.”
I gasp. “He paid you!”
Budge�
�s stubbly jaw drops. “That offends me, Bella. I am wounded to the core. My mind is just reeling. In fact, I might have to look over your shoulder and copy off your final tomorrow just to ease my pain.”
I do a partial eye roll.
“Good morning, Truman High! This is Tiger TV with our last announcements for the semester.”
“I was in the process of getting witnesses to confirm that Anna was at the coffee shop at the time the check was cashed.”
“I’m sorry, Velma. I didn’t mean to get in the way of you and the Mystery Machine.”
I narrow my eyes. “If you don’t help me out and keep me in the loop on Ruthie McGee, I’ll . . .” Thinking, thinking. “Tell her something that would destroy your reputation forever.” I lift my chin. “I know things.” Other than the fact that he has one Justin Timberlake CD hidden in his room, I’ve got nothing.
“Oh, I’m so scared.”
Maybe it’s the lighting, but I think I see a flicker of doubt.
“. . . The finalists for your senior prom queen are Anna Deason, Felicity Weeks, Ruthie McGee, and Callie Drake. Your prom king candidates are . . .”
I tune in to the announcements long enough to make a list on my notebook and reread the names.
“Get online and exercise your American right to vote. Results will be announced at prom in March.”
“Your girlfriend made the cut.”
Budge flushes red. “She’s not my girlfriend. And she scares me.” His mouth lifts. “I kinda like it.”
At lunch I’m supposed to meet cat girl Tracey Sniveley for an interview, but she doesn’t show. I fix a salad, buy a water, and walk toward my friends. As soon as I sit, everyone quiets.
I glance at the faces of Anna, Matt, and Lindy. All guilty-looking. I spy a flash of white. “What’s that behind your back there, Anna?”
“This?” It remains out of sight. “Nothing. Just, um, Sports Illustrated.”
“Really? Who’s on the cover?” Though she’s a cheerleader, Anna knows nothing about sports. Even less than I do.
“Uh . . . Tiger Sharapova.”
“Hand it over.”
With a worried glance at Lindy, Anna puts the magazine in my hand.
“The Enquirer?” I read the cover. “The Olsen twins are in secret negotiations with aliens from Mars. Cameron Diaz dates ninety-year-old men. Bella Kirkwood—” What? I pull the magazine closer. “Bella Kirkwood: Can This Wrestler’s Daughter Juggle Her Two Loves?” And there on the cover is a picture of Hunter with his arms wrapped around me. And another of me standing next to my car, staring into the eyes of Luke Sullivan, his hands on my shoulders.
I'm So Sure (2009) Page 8
