I'm So Sure (2009)

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Easy?” She snorts. “Do you know how long it’s been since I got a new pair of shoes? Me, who used to attend Fashion Week? I have friends in Manhattan eating lunches that would take my whole week’s paycheck. So, no, it’s not easy. But I told you it would be an adventure.” Her face softens. “And can you imagine life without Jake and your stepbrothers?”

  “No.” Except when Budge hogs the bathroom.

  “I know you’ve been looking for another job, but you know who’s got openings, right?”

  I blink. “I’m not working at the maxi-pad factory.” My dad wouldn’t stand for that, would he? “Besides, job hunting is just part of teen life—good material for the column. I’ll find something soon.” I look toward the stairs and yell. “Let’s go, Budge!”

  Robbie returns and gives Mom’s skirt a tug. “I think I have a fever.”

  Mom touches his head. “Nope. Feel okay to me.”

  “I think I have food poisoning like Bella.”

  I turn to my stepbrother. “Does it feel like a hand is reaching into your stomach and trying to French-braid your intestines?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s not food poisoning.” I flatten out some wrinkles in his Superman cape. “Are you sure everything’s okay at school?”

  “It’s fine.” He shoves away from the table and grabs his backpack. “I’m gonna watch TV until the bus gets here.” He slinks out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

  I stand outside in the backyard as Budge pulls his car out of the garage. Though the initial shock has worn off of having a stepbrother who drives a hearse, it still appalls me to have to ride in it. I mean, dead people were in this thing. Their germs are soaked into the steel gray lining of the car. I don’t want gross corpse-y germs up my nose!

  I get in the car and immediately turn down his screamo. “I need an update on Ruthie McGee.”

  Budge jumps, his elbow hitting the horn. A foghorn sound follows. “W–what do you mean? There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing.”

  My eyes narrow. “First of all, I know you went over to her house Friday night. But I mean what’s going on with tracing the anonymous e-mails she’s gotten?”

  “Dude, I’ve tried for over a month. I can’t crack it. It’s like some wizard sent those e-mails.” He turns onto David Street, running over a curb. “I have to pick up my friend Newton.”

  Budge pulls into the drive of a small white house. An old dead Christmas tree sits with the trash at the curb.

  Newton Phillips slams out of the front door, yelling back at his mother. “I’ll do the dishes when I get home! When I’m rich, you’ll be sorry you bossed me around!”

  I watch him stomp to the hearse. “Newt’s got attitude.”

  He hops in the back, greets me, then does some secret handshake thing with Budge that only techie dweebs can follow.

  Budge looks in his rearview. “Dude, I totally found out how to create a multileveled vortex in that second dimension.”

  The rest of the ride consists of me humming along to screamo so I don’t have to pay attention to gamer talk. By the time we get to school, I want to cut off my own ears and stuff them down Budge’s throat.

  Walking into journalism later in the morning, my eyes are automatically drawn to Luke, who has his shirtsleeves rolled up and is already in work mode.

  “Your interview with sophomore Tracey Snively was riveting stuff,” he says as I sit down at my Mac.

  I look up from my screen only long enough to glare. “Yeah, your idea to visit her in her home of thirty cats was sheer brilliance. Really gave the article a special edge. Plus I horked up fur for days.”

  “Well, something has increased our sales.” He throws a paper down on my table. “Maybe it’s this.”

  I ignore his sarcastic tone and pick up Entertainment Weekly, and there’s another picture of me and Hunter from my Christmas visit in New York. It’s a close-up of the two of us in front of the Buddha at Tao. This instant celebrity business is so weird.

  “Thanks,” I snap. “I’ll add it to my growing scrapbook.” What’s his deal? It’s not like Hunter’s my boyfriend. He’s totally not. Actually, I don’t know what he is. We’ve called each other almost every night since Christmas. He seems so different. Changed. And he says he’s gone to church a few times by himself.

  “Was there something else?” I ask.

  “As a matter of fact there is. Why don’t we step into Mr. Holman’s office for a moment?”

  “Fine.” I follow him into the empty room. Luke shuts the door. Uh-oh. This isn’t good.

  He rolls up his sleeves, as if taking the time to sort through his thoughts.

  “What did I do this time?” I laugh.

  But Luke is not smiling as he lifts his head. “When exactly were you planning on telling me that someone broke into your house before Christmas break and e-mailed you another threat?”

  “Oh. That.”

  He closes the small space between us. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

  “Maybe your feelings could best be expressed in show tunes. I know when I get upset, I like to sing some old Broadway favorites.”

  Luke’s left eye twitches. “Number one, we are friends. And friends share things with one another. You couldn’t trust me with that information? I had to hear it from Officer Mark.”

  “I’m not going to ask what you were talking to him about,” I snap. “Probably doing your own investigation into our case, so you could take the lead.”

  “He approached me.” Luke’s words are short, crisp. “He wanted to make sure I was keeping an eye on you after everything that had happened.”

  “So you’re mad that I made you look foolish in front of him.”

  Luke pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not mad, Bella. I’m furious.” He leans down and puts his face level with mine. “If you don’t keep me updated on everything that happens, you will be off this paper. Permanently. I don’t work with rogue reporters seeking glory and their face on the front page.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I work with team players. Right now, you are a committee of one. And that arrogance is going to get you hurt.”

  “Arrogance?” Why, you little pea-brained, chess-playing—

  “I care about everyone on this staff, and that includes you.” Luke’s voice is calmer. More controlled. It sets my teeth on edge. “From now on, if anything out of the ordinary happens, you are to call me immediately. Consider it another assignment.” His eyes connect with mine. “And if you don’t follow through, it will be your last.”

  “I am so tired of my life being everyone else’s business. What’s wrong with keeping one thing to myself?”

  He reaches out like he’s going to touch me, then drops his hand. “Because the thought of anything happening to you makes me want to tear someone apart.”

  I swallow.

  “Just tell me your solo days are over. And you won’t be anywhere by yourself. We’re working together. It’s you. And me.”

  I fumble for the doorknob, unable to take my eyes off him. “I . . . I have an article to finish.” And I run for the safety of my computer.

  When I arrive at lunch ten minutes late, I get a good look at our table and realize we’ve become quite a motley crew. We have Ruthie, the biker chick. Me, the Manhattan transplant. Anna, the everenthusiastic cheerleader. Lindy, the stressed-out class president. And Matt, the jock who just sits there and eats his sub sandwich and chips.

  “Lindy, are you okay?” My friend is facedown on the table, her salad shoved to the side.

  “I was not meant to be a leader. What’s Donald Trump’s secret?”

  I pluck a tomato off her tray. “Bad hair?”

  She sits up. “First the banquet hall at Truman Inn. And now . . .”

  “Acid rain?”

  “It’s not funny, Bella. I just got a call from the Truman Inn. They wanted to let me know that when we cancelled the reservation for prom, we lost the five
-hundred-dollar deposit.”

  I open the wrapping on my sandwich. “When was this reservation cancelled?”

  “About five minutes ago.” Lindy holds up her hand to stop my next question. “It was a female who called them. The person pretended to be me. Again.”

  Matt bites down on a chip. “Did you tell them you still wanted the banquet hall?”

  Lindy stares at Matt with her you idiot face. “They had a waiting list. So now the Truman Men’s Association is having Pedicures and Polish Sausage Night there.”

  We all take a moment to think about that one.

  Ruthie stretches out her arms and then cracks her knuckles. “Well, that makes me want to hit something. Some idiot is ruining my prom.”

  “I’ll be back.” Leaving my lunch, I grab my purse and head through the double doors to the courtyard. I call information. “Truman Inn, please.”

  “Please tell me you aren’t making reservations for a romantic getaway.”

  I swivel around. “Luke.” I smile into the winter sun. “I was just checking on something for a friend.”

  He crosses his arms. “We said we were going to work together. And you’re not to be anywhere alone.”

  “I don’t recall ever agreeing to that.” I press my ear to the phone and jot down the number.

  Luke’s hand wraps around my arm. The other reaches for the phone. “I’d be happy to dial.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine.” And I fill him in on the latest cancellation.

  Luke calls the Truman Inn and works his magic. Charm oozes out of his every word. “Write this down.” And he reads off a telephone number to me.

  When he calls the new number he smiles. “Voice mail.”

  “Whose?”

  “One of your prom queen candidates—Callie Drake.”

  “Let’s go get her.” I step forward, only to be snatched back.

  “Not so fast. Doesn’t this seem wrong to you?”

  I stare at Luke’s hand on mine. “Oh, I don’t know. Doesn’t seem too bad. Kinda nice and tingly actually.”

  “I’m talking about Callie.”

  Oh. Me too. “I don’t even know who she is.”

  Luke drops my hand. “Before we run to the principal with this, let’s do a little surveillance. Unless you have to work after school, that is?”

  “Um . . . work? I guess I could squeeze you in.”

  I meet Luke at his 4Runner after school.

  “I don’t have a lot of surveillance experience,” he says.

  “Me neither. Wait here.” I run across the street and through some bushes. I find two of the Pile Driver of Dreams camera guys. “I need to follow someone. Gimme some tips.” For two minutes I take mental notes of everything they say.

  “Good luck!” one yells as I walk back to Luke.

  “Well?” He starts the SUV.

  “Larry said to park a half a block away and get a good pair of binoculars. Doug said to bring lots of snacks.”

  “Where are we going to get binoculars?”

  I fish through my purse and hold up a small pink pair.

  Luke shakes his head. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Nosiness.” I smile. “It’s my spiritual gift.”

  “I asked around today, and Callie has a boyfriend. There’s a good chance she’s at his house. She doesn’t work.” He hangs a right.

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  With one hand on the wheel, Luke reaches around his seat and picks up a yearbook. He hands it to me. “Page forty-two. You’ll see her picture.”

  I flip to the page. She’s cute. In a natural sort of way. Long hair, no makeup. I thumb through the pages as he drives. “Hey, here’s a layout on the Miss Truman High competition. Lookie here.” I hold up the spread. “ ‘Girls protest beauty pageant,’ ” I read. “And there’s Callie front and center. Says the protesters claimed it devalued women.”

  Luke points at the contestants in bathing suits. “I see all sorts of valuables there.”

  We both laugh, and I smack him with the book. “Maybe our girl Callie wants to be prom queen so she can bring it down. Probably wants to expose it for the ridiculous popularity contest it is.”

  “Obviously she’s working with someone,” Luke says as he stares at a house we drive by. “She can’t be doing it all alone—running us off the road, magically transferring money, sending untraceable e-mails, harassing you.” He pulls onto Main Street. “That was her boyfriend’s house. Nobody there.”

  “Let’s move on to her house.”

  An hour later I’ve got a crick in my neck, I’ve eaten all the mints at the bottom of my purse, including the fuzzy ones, and all we’ve done is watch Callie’s silver Focus.

  “Let’s just talk to her about the call, Luke. I’m tired.”

  “I’m going to get out and look at her car. Make sure there’s no scuff marks on it—in case she’s the one who sideswiped us.”

  I press a button and my chair reclines. “Okay. See you in a bit.”

  “I need you.”

  My hand jerks, and my chair sits straight up. “What?”

  “I need you to distract Callie while I go check.” He opens the car door. “You drive. Pull right up next to her car.”

  We swap places, and I cruise us to her house. “What will I say?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll think of something.”

  “Well, it’s not like we can talk makeup.” I say a little prayer as I hop out of the SUV. Dear God, please give me guidance in my moment of deceit.

  I look back with dread and Luke motions me on. With a shaky hand, I knock on her front door. Yippy dogs go off like obnoxious, fuzzy alarms.

  “Yes?” Callie answers the door.

  “Um, Callie? I’m—”

  “I know who you are. I’ve seen you on TV and in the Enquirer.”

  “Oh.” I’ve seen your picture too. “I, uh, am working on a piece for the Truman High Tribune and wanted to talk to you about”—Don’t say anything that will tip her off—“the rumor that they will soon be enforcing a dress code at school.”

  “They will?”

  “Yes.” I am so uncreative today. “I’m getting some quotes from departing seniors.”

  “What’s the dress code going to be?”

  “Er . . .” I watch a kid in a wife-beater sail by on his bike. “Tank tops and skirts. School colors.”

  “How short are these skirts?”

  “Short?” It comes out as a question. “Yes, very short.” I point to a spot way above my knee. “They said it will be good for . . . circulation.” I look over my shoulder toward her car. I see the faintest hint of a coat. Hurry up, Luke!

  “Well, we have an all-male school board. What do you expect?”

  “Huh?” I turn back around. “Right! What do you expect?”

  “My boyfriend would never allow me to wear skimpy clothes. He thinks it takes the focus off my brain and character.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “In fact, he’d probably beat up anyone who even glanced at my legs.”

  This snaps me to attention. “Oh, is he the jealous sort?”

  She smiles like this is cool. “Very. We both just believe in shining with our inner lights and not being judged by outward appearances.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Lights. Shining. So then how does he feel about your being a contender for prom queen?”

  She sighs heavily. “He’s not happy. At all. We fight about it a lot.” Her voice drops. “But all principles and values aside, sometimes a girl just wants to be the one wearing the tiara, you know? Just once in my life, I want a tiara moment. Does that make sense?”

  I smile. “Yeah, it does. I hope your boyfriend comes around.”

  “I don’t know if that’s going to happen.” Her face darkens. “My friend Felicity Weeks told me that he’s been going around encouraging people not to vote for me.”

  “Felicity’s one of the other queen candidates, right?”

  “Yeah, we’re totally BFFs. Joshua
—my boyfriend—he doesn’t like Felicity much. He says I need to find some new friends. I just think he’s jealous of any time I spend away from him.”

  I have to ask. “Callie, why are you dating this boy?”

  Her brown eyes go all dreamy. “He truly is a great guy. He just has these . . . triggers. But he really does want the best for me.”

  “Yeah, that sounds really encouraging.”

  “Looks like your boyfriend is ready to go.”

  I glance back at the 4Runner, and Luke waves from the passenger side. “Uh, thanks for the quotes. And good luck on your run for the tiara.”

  “Luck?” Callie laughs. “If I get queen, it won’t be because of luck.”

  I say good-bye and hop in the SUV. “Did you find anything on her car?”

  “Nothing but a few door dings.” Luke stretches and rests his fingers on the top of my headrest.

  “Whoever ran us off the road has had plenty of time to repair her vehicle.” I tell him everything Callie said.

  Luke’s brow furrows. “If she wins, it won’t be because of luck? At this point, I don’t know whether that’s inspirational or ominous. Hey, where are you going?”

  I pull into the Dairy Barn drive-thru. “I need to talk to the ice cream lady. Last time I was here, she looked very suspicious.”

  Luke laughs. “I respect your commitment to the job, Kirkwood. You do go above and beyond.”

  chapter twenty

  So since this Thursday is Valentine’s Day”—Lindy shuts her locker and sneaks a glance at Matt—“we’re passing out the Match-and-Catch results today at lunch.”

  Ruthie bites into a Pop-Tart as the first bell rings. “So I can find out who’s the best guy in the school for me?”

  “Did you fill one out, Matt?”

  He looks away from Lindy and shrugs. “Yeah, I mean I guess so. It was for a good cause and all.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious who it paired you up with?” she asks.

  “I gotta go to science class.” He waves absently and joins the downstream flow of the hall.

  Callie Drake and her boyfriend walk by. He’s got his arm anchored around her neck, and the two are laughing. I zip up my backpack and fall in behind the couple.

  “You’re going prom dress shopping again?” her boyfriend says. “What’s the big deal? Pick one out and be done with it.”