I'm So Sure (2009)

by Jenny B. Jones

  “I need to go stretch.” He stands up. “I’ll see you guys later.”

  “That went well.” Luke watches him leave.

  “How was I supposed to know she hadn’t told Matt?” My grin spreads slowly. “His reaction was interesting though, wasn’t it? So what about you? Is Taylor coming in for prom?”

  He claps when the Tigers score. “She’ll be staying at school.”

  The buzzer sounds for a time-out, and the cheerleaders take center court. I watch Anna smile her peppy smile and lure the crowd into a chant. I scan the audience for anyone even remotely suspicious. Aside from two guys in twin mullets, I see nothing unusual. No one that screams, “I stalk potential prom queens.”

  “There’s Dolly.” Luke waves toward the end of the gym, and Dolly starts walking our way. Baby Mason is held tight to her chest by some sort of sling contraption.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as Dolly sits in the spot Matt vacated.

  She lets out a breath, sending her big bangs up even higher. “Mason and I needed to get out of the house for a while.” She strokes his sleeping head. “And I have season passes. I love me some basketball. And I figure it’s never too soon to introduce a boy to sports, right?”

  Mason looks like he’s unconscious, so I doubt he’ll be absorbing much of the game tonight.

  At half-time I’m about to go to the concession stand for some Skittles when the cheerleaders take the court again. They spread across the floor, and music begins to pump out of the speakers. I sit back down to watch the show.

  “Wow. They’re really good.” Dolly pats Mason’s back. “They just shot that one girl up like a torpedo.”

  That one girl is Anna Deason. Though she’s incredibly tall, she’s slender and light. As a techno mix of a song plays, she and a few other girls do backhand springs across the floor as the other cheerleaders begin to build. The song speeds up, and Anna runs to the center of the formation. Two cheerleaders form a basket with their arms, and Anna is thrown straight into the air as the music crescendos.

  My eyes follow her straight toward the ceiling.

  The music stops. And the gym goes black.

  Shrieks come from all around.

  Then a loud thud from the gym floor.

  Luke’s hand finds mine as I get to my feet. “Don’t move.”

  “But Anna—she could be hurt.”

  “Must be some storm out there,” Dolly says as Mason begins to fuss.

  “What’s going on?” Did the lightning knock the electricity out?

  “Call a doctor!” someone yells from below. Anna. She must be injured. And maybe others, if she fell on them.

  Though it feels like an eternity, only two minutes pass before the lights flicker back on. Someone in the press box picks up a mic. “Just the weather, folks. I guess the lightning flipped a breaker. Please stay in your seat until we can get these two young ladies safely out of the gym.”

  Anna hangs limp over her dad’s arms as he carries her out. The cheer coach follows behind, helping another girl hobble toward the exit.

  Luke stands. “Let’s go check it out.”

  I trail behind him into the gym lobby. He peruses the anxious crowd that’s gathered. “Let’s go talk to Hank Gates.”

  “Ben Gates’s dad? Why are we talking to the point guard’s father?”

  “Because he’s the fire chief.” Luke slips through a knot of people, then pulls me through, his fingers wrapped around my hand.

  He stops in front of a middle-aged guy in a Truman Fire Department cap. We wait until he finishes a conversation with the school superintendent.

  “Mr. Gates?” Luke steps forward and engages the man in small talk about the game, his son, and some random current events. “So lightning knocked the lights out, huh?” he finally asks.

  “Yep. Looks that way. We’ve had some wild storms the last few nights, but luckily no damage.”

  I join the conversation. “Did it just affect the gym?”

  He scratches his beard. “Yeah, kind of crazy. It didn’t trip any other breakers in the high school but the main gym area. Even the locker rooms had power.” He shakes his head. “Mother Nature’s just full of mischief tonight.”

  Luke catches my eye, and I know we share the same thought.

  Mother Nature?

  Or someone a little more sinister?

  chapter twenty-four

  Happy Monday, Truman Tigers! This is Melanie Coulson for Tiger TV with your morning announcements. It’s not too late to cast your vote for prom king and queen. Hop online today and . . .”

  Budge sits sideways in his seat, ignoring the TV. “I’m so sick of all this prom stuff.”

  I dig through my backpack until I find our novel for the month, Heart of Darkness, and barely resist the urge to chuck it across the room. More like Heart of Pukeness. “Why don’t you just ask Ruthie to prom? What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “She’d put me in a choke hold and laugh in my face.”

  It is possible. “I don’t think so. But she is a little untrusting of guys right now. Her last boyfriend dumped her over those doctored pictures.”

  “What a jerk.”

  “If you don’t ask her, someone else will. What if a biker family moves into town today, and some dude with chaps and a leather vest steals her heart? Do you really want to risk that?”

  His head droops. “I could never compete with someone in chaps.”

  I pat his shoulder. “Seize the day, Budge.”

  I barely stay awake through the lecture on the novel. When the bell rings to end class, I’m the first one out the door.

  “Did you get my message about Anna?” Luke asks, as I sit down at my computer in journalism.

  “One broken arm, one concussion, and one surly attitude. Yeah, it was the talk of church yesterday.”

  I scroll through my e-mails to check for any possible job offers or other miracles.

  Wait—what’s this?

  Bella, You don’t listen very well, do you? You have no idea what I’m capable of. Nobody does . . . but you’re about to find out.

  I hit reply to see if the address is legit, but it comes back to me rejected. Big surprise.

  “What is that?” Luke hovers over me, and I can smell the clean detergent of his shirt.

  “Um . . .” I shut down the screen.

  “You just can’t get the hang of this sharing stuff, can you?” Luke reaches across and drags the mouse from my hand, pulling up the e-mail. His expression darkens. “A fake e-mail address.” He shakes his head. “Why isn’t this person coming after me too?”

  I pat his arm. “Now’s really not the time to get your feelings hurt. Maybe someone will threaten you next week, okay?”

  Luke’s expression holds me in place. “I don’t like you being in danger. And it makes no sense—why just threaten you?” He shoots off a copy of the e-mail to Officer Mark.

  I force a smile, despite the fact that I’m more than a little creeped out. “This person probably knows I’m the better sleuth.”

  Luke doesn’t laugh. “In the meantime, you need to still make sure someone’s with you at all times. I’m serious, Bella. Go nowhere alone.”

  “All I gotta say is, I better get some sympathy votes out of this.” At lunch Anna’s arm hangs at an angle in a sling. “How’s a girl supposed to eat a burrito with one arm?”

  “Just lean over it and gnaw.”

  Ruthie’s suggestion has me smiling.

  “Hey, Anna.” Felicity Weeks stops at our table. “Sorry to hear about your arm. I hope it heals quickly.”

  “Um. Thanks.” Anna tries cutting into her burrito with a plastic fork. “I hear Callie Drake’s back today. Word is she’s still denying calling the hotel.”

  I watch Felicity’s reaction to the mention of her best friend. “Yeah. Oh, speaking of that—Daddy is interviewing two caterers this week.”

  “Make sure they know how to make those cocktail weenies.” Ruthie rubs a napkin over he
r face. “Man, I love those things.”

  Felicity wrinkles her nose. “I hardly think either one of them even know what that is.”

  “We can’t afford a caterer right now,” Lindy says. “Especially a fancy one. Felicity, you can’t go making decisions for the junior class like that.”

  Ruthie jerks her head toward Lindy. “Yeah, she’s the president.”

  Felicity claps her hands. “But that’s the best part—Daddy’s going to pick up the tab!”

  Smiles break out across the table. Except for Lindy. “We don’t need handouts. I was working on getting the catering donated.”

  Felicity pats Lindy’s back. “I’m sure you’re a great class president. But this is my senior prom. I want it to be perfect. I’ve got my dress, my shoes, the photographer, a limo.”

  “Yeah, too bad you won’t have a crown,” Anna teases. “Oh, did I say that out loud? Must be the pain meds talking.”

  As we laugh, Felicity struggles with a smile. “Such the kidder, Anna. Well, I must be off. I have to study for a trigonometry test, and I promised my tutor we’d review. I’ll let you know about the caterer.”

  As she saunters away, Anna frowns. “She took the lead for queen after she got us the new prom location. And now a caterer? That is not even fair. I want that crown. Maybe I can get my uncle to deejay the event. He’s Funky Freddie on 105.7 from midnight to four a.m.” She glances around the table. “What? Y’all don’t know him?”

  “Maybe I could ask my third cousin Eugene to deejay.” Ruthie fixes one of her hair spikes. “He just got out of prison, so we could probably get him for cheap.”

  “I’ll arrange the music,” Lindy says. “Maybe Budge could do it. He was the deejay for one of our student council dances last year.”

  “Budge?” My stepbrother?

  Ruthie sighs. “Yeah, as in the boy who was not on my Match-and- Catch results.”

  “Like those mean anything.” Lindy tears into an apple. “Speaking of that, I still have your results, Bella. You and Luke forgot them in the hall the day I handed them out.”

  “I don’t even want them now.” Like I need more confusion in my life. “Ruthie, are those stupid results why you’ve backed off on chasing Budge?”

  “No. I found out some discouraging information. Turns out your stepbrother is not down with JC.”

  Sometimes conversations with Ruthie McGee remind me of the time I went to Italy, and it took me thirty minutes to communicate I needed a bathroom.

  “You know,” she says. “He doesn’t have a membership card to Club Saved. He doesn’t ride the God train. Your stepbrother does not have his passport to the Pearly Gates.”

  “He’s saved.” Who would’ve thought I’d be defending Budge? “He’s just struggling right now. But he hasn’t skipped church in a couple of months, so don’t give up on him.”

  “So if he wasn’t saved, you wouldn’t go out with him?” Anna asks.

  “Hey, I am a rule follower.” She sniffs and runs a finger under her dog collar. “Plus my dad would cut off my hair-bleach allowance.”

  “I think it’s good,” Matt chimes in. “We talked about this in FCA just last week.”

  Last Wednesday at the Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting, our speaker broke out the Bible and showed us God’s big N-O on dating nonbelievers. I can’t help but think of Hunter. I dated him knowing he wasn’t saved. And now what am I doing? Sure, it’s just a friendship. But I think Hunter and I both know there could be more simmering beneath the surface.

  After school I meet Budge at the hearse, and we pick up Robbie at Truman Elementary down the street.

  Robbie steps out of the car rider line and walks toward us, his backpack dragging the ground behind him.

  “School is sucking the life out of my little brother,” Budge says as Robbie hops in the back and buckles himself in.

  I twist around my seat and smile at Robbie. “Good day?”

  “Yeah.” He doesn’t even look at me. “The best. I’d love four more just like it.”

  I nod to a piece of paper in his hand. “Did you have art? That’s a great looking picture of a dog.”

  “It’s Betsy.” Robbie’s pet cow. “And I already know it’s ugly. Billy Simpkins told me so, like, fifty million times.”

  “What did I tell you to say to Billy Simpkins?” Budge’s face is intense as he drives.

  “I can’t tell him his momma’s uglier than anything I could draw. He’s a giant. He’s a mutant of genetics.”

  How Robbie even knows the word genetics is beyond me. At his age, I think I was still trying to figure out why the left shoe couldn’t go on the right foot.

  “What grade’s this kid in?” I ask.

  “Second. For the third time.” Robbie leans on the door like the life has left his bones.

  “Have you told the teacher?”

  “No!” Budge and Robbie yell.

  “Dude, that totally breaks man-code.” Budge turns on the street that takes us to the industrial park. “If you’re a man, you take care of it yourself. Robbie just needs to get some backbone. Outsmart Billy Simpkins.”

  Robbie says nothing.

  I dig into my purse and find my last two dollars. “Stop and get him some ice cream on your way home.”

  “Um . . . thanks.” Budge tosses the money in the console as we pull up to Summer Fresh. “You know when you’ve been a pad packer here for sixty days, they give you free samples.” He grins as I step onto the pavement. “Just something for you to look forward to.”

  I slam the door.

  The ugly building stands before me like my own Billy Simpkins, taunting me and making me feel icky. I do not want to go in there. I mutter a quick little prayer and roll back my shoulders. I can do this. But before I go in, I might as well get one thing over with.

  I turn around and wave to a distant van. “Yes, I’m really going to work here! Get your shot now!” A long telephoto lens sticks out of the window, and I give them a few complimentary poses before running inside.

  The gray-headed receptionist gives me a badge, then leads me back to the factory and passes me off to another woman. Her badge reads Earlene.

  “I’m the assistant line manager for this machine.” She pats a big metal contraption. “This here thing is old, but recently rebuilt. It’s been a little testy lately, but I think she’s fixed.” Earlene’s hair is so gray it’s nearly purple, and I find it hard to focus on her instructions for studying the lavender hue.

  “Now, Bella, the feminine napkin will come off that conveyor belt, sticky side up. Your job is to place the adhesive sheet on it and pack it in a box.”

  Earlene flips a switch, and the conveyer belt lurches and chugs. Within a few seconds pads begin to slowly roll out in a line like little sanitary soldiers. Earlene’s Velcro shoes squeak as she leans over the belt and easily puts the slick paper in the right spot.

  “Easy stuff, little lady.” Her drawn-on brows seem to point to heaven and keep her in a constant expression of surprise. “Now you try.”

  I step up to the conveyor, snap on some gloves, and repeat Earlene’s motions.

  “Good job. You just gotta go with the flow.” She barks with laughter. “Get it?”

  “Yeah.” I need a prom dress. I need a prom dress.

  An hour later I’m listening to my iPod and sticking the thingies on the pads like I was born doing it.

  At a tap on my shoulder, I find Earlene. “Guess what?”

  I force myself to look away from her mustache. “What?”

  “We just got new rush orders, and we need to double our output. I’m going to have to crank up the speed on this baby. Can you handle that?”

  “I think so.” Considering I could do my calculus homework and work the line at this pace, I believe going a little faster would be a welcome change.

  With a knobby hand she turns a dial. “Okay, it will speed up gradually so you can adjust. When it gets to double time, it will stay at that constant speed. If you need to sto
p the conveyor for any reason, push that big red button over there.” She points to a glowing circle at the opposite end. “And whatever you do, do not let anything touch the floor because it has to be thrown away. And it comes out of your paycheck.” Earlene’s smile reveals overly large dentures. “Are you ready for your break yet?”

  “Maybe later.” I’d hate to tear myself away from all this fun.

  “Okay, but if you get in a sticky situation, just holler!” She chortles all the way to the other side of the factory.

  I plug my earbud back in and get a rhythm going. Swipe, stick, grab. Swipe, stick, grab. This really isn’t that bad. The belt speeds up, and I stand ready with my adhesive papers.

  “Are you Bella?”

  I throw a pad in a box and pause the iPod. “Yes.” Swipe, stick, grab.

  “I’m Newton Phillips’s mom.” She holds out her hand. “Janice.”

  I shake her hand quickly, careful not to miss a beat.

  Small eyes blink behind oversized safety goggles, and I have to wonder what part of the plant she works in. “I just wanted to thank you for arranging his prom date. Newt may be brilliant at designing games, but he’s not the most socially advanced boy.”

  I try to compose a look of surprise.

  “And I know this Lindy Miller is a good girl, so I’m hoping this is the beginning of a new phase in his life.”

  “Ms. Phillips, it’s just two people going to prom together.” I throw some pads in a box. “They’re not really dating.”

  Her smile is slight. “I know. But it’s still a move in the right direction for my Newt. He needs to know there’s more out there than these fantasy worlds he creates. Good luck with this machine. It can be a little—”

  “Sticky. Yes, I know.” Doesn’t anyone in this building have some original jokes?

  Ms. Phillips acts like she’s going to hug me, but then seems to think better of it. She leaves me to my work and my music. I mentally take notes for the Tribune article. This will definitely provide some comic relief, I guess.

  Sometime later it occurs to me that I totally need a tinkle break. I speed to the red button and push it. The conveyor shudders to a stop. I grab my red Chloé bag and scan for a bathroom.