by Linda Kage
However, if I’d known such a dainty piece of jewelry would cause the calamity it did, I would’ve spit on it that very moment and thrown it back in Barry’s face. But who could ever predict something so disastrous? Honestly.
It was lovely, though. Thick, fourteen-carat gold chain with a heart-shaped pendant and a ruby red rose in the center. I fell in love the moment I opened the box and the light reflecting off one of the red-gold petals winked up at me.
“Don’t you want to try it on?” Barry asked when I did nothing but ogle the gift without daring to touch it.
I let out an amazed breath and extracted the rose from the box with trembling fingers. I attempted to fasten the chain around my neck twice before Barry laughed and pushed from his chair. “Here, let me.” He skirted the table, moving behind me.
I lifted my hair, and he fastened the clasp. Cold gold settled against the back of my neck, the chill making goose bumps rise on my arms. I wrapped my fingers around the rose and grinned at Mom only to find a picture that confused me. She wasn’t smiling—wasn’t scowling either—but she looked very blank. I couldn’t describe her expression. I only knew it wasn’t right. Turning back to Barry, I found the excited glitter in his eyes I’d wanted to see on Mom’s face. So I continued to beam at him.
“Thank you. Oh, wow, thank you. Is it real?”
He laughed, nudging Mom in the shoulder as if sharing an inside joke with her. “Listen to this girl. Is it real? Of course it’s real. You think I’d give one of my ladies fake gold?”
I beamed. My first pure gold piece of jewelry. “Wow.”
Mom still had nothing to say. Her odd expression remained, so I cleared my throat, picked up my fork, and began to eat again as if nothing had just happened. But all the while, my free hand lingered on my new gold necklace and my face tingled with excited heat.
I didn’t realize my mother’s problem until after supper. I hurried to the bathroom to see how the necklace looked on me. After staring at my reflection in the mirror for a solid minute, turning slightly to the left then the right, I decided I looked older and much more mature with gold wrapped around my throat. Now all I needed was some fur, pearls, a couple diamonds, and I’d officially be a high roller. I grinned at my image and caressed the golden-red rose.
Dashing from the restroom, I hurried back to the kitchen to tell Mom and Barry how much I approved of my new gift when I heard their conversation as they cleared the supper table.
“…thought we discussed this, Barry. You said you wouldn’t constantly load her down with presents.”
I skidded to a halt and pressed a hand to my heart. What was this? Mom didn’t approve of my gift?
Barry managed an uneasy laugh. “Oh, come on, Kate. I hardly call one little necklace a load of presents. Besides, this is a special occasion. She starts a new school tomorrow. She’s got to be nervous and—”
“Christmas is a special occasion,” my mom cut in. “Her birthday. Graduation. Tomorrow is just any other day, and I don’t want you spoiling her even though I know you can afford it. This is my daughter, and we agreed I would raise her as I saw fit.”
From the hallway, I frowned. I wouldn’t call going without a dad for thirteen years spoiled. I wouldn’t call one little pick-me-up gift, given out of thoughtful consideration, spoiled. Mom was being completely irrational, and I had no idea why. She was supposed to be on my side here.
Betrayed and hurt, I wrapped my fingers around the necklace and listened to her continue. “I mean, come on, Barry. A fourteen-carat gold necklace for her first day of school?” Her laugh was harsh and brittle. “You didn’t even give me that for our wedding.”
I gasped and quickly slapped my hand over my mouth before anyone could hear my shock. In a blinding flash of intuition, everything became clear. Mom wasn’t worried about me turning into a pampered brat.
She was jealous.
I clutched the necklace until the imprint of a rose embedded itself in my palm.
This didn’t seem real. I’d been without a father for over eighty percent of my life. I was starting a new school tomorrow so she could live out her happily ever after. I was doing all the sacrificing here. How could she be so petty as to feel jealous and spiteful toward me? Why couldn’t she be happy, or even grateful, for everything I was about to go through for her?
As she sulked around the kitchen, slamming dirty dishes into the sink, rage seethed under my skin.
My own mother wanted me miserable.
I fled to the privacy of my new room, pushed aside an opened box I still needed to unpack, and plopped onto my bed. After reaching for the cell phone Barry had given me when Mom and I moved in, I texted a quick SOS to my three friends and then immediately booted up the laptop Barry had also provided for me to attend Southeast. Once I had Schy, Adam, and Bridget online in our favorite chat room, I told them about the necklace and my mom’s reaction.
Bridget typed in a frown face. “You gotta be kidding me. How could she do that?”
“What an insensitive thing to say,” Adam wrote. “You’re the least pampered girl I know.”
“She must be jealous of his attention to you,” Schy suggested.
I smirked. “That’s what I thought.”
“And, come on. You’re even transferring schools so she could get married,” Bridget spoke up.
Exactly. See, my best friends got it. Why hadn’t my own mother?
“Ask her again if you can stay at Hillsburg,” Schy ordered.
At that moment, my friends’ proposal sounded brilliant. I was no longer concerned about sacrificing myself for someone so ungrateful. And I’d never wanted to attend Southeast anyway. I loathed the very idea with a burning passion. Every time I thought about what would happen when I saw Ryder Yates again, I started breathing all funny with these strange, wheezing pants. And that happened from merely thinking about it. When it happened for real, I’d probably just pass out cold at the guy’s feet.
After thanking my pals for their support, I logged off and searched the house for my mom.
I found her in the master bathroom. She stood in front of the long vanity that stretched across the length of the wall. Something ancient reflected in her eyes as she studied her own image. Smoothing age-defying lotion over her neck and upper chest, she swirled her fingers in a sad, slow rhythm over the pale flesh where the faint traces of wrinkles were beginning to sag. It confirmed my jealousy suspicions. She was probably feeling self-conscious because Barry hadn’t given her anything sparkly to wrap around her own wrinkly, old throat.
Then she let out a sigh and wiped at the corner of her eye, and it struck me. I mean really struck me.
She hurt.
What a strange sensation to realize my mother was a person too, a true-life human with feelings, not just someone who existed purely to care and provide for me. My mom possessed the same imperfect, human emotions I did: jealousy, insecurity, weakness, pain.
Her weary, depleted manner made me pause. It reminded me this was all just as new for her as it was for me. She hadn’t been married to anyone for thirteen years. And she hadn’t known her new husband all that long. There was no worn, comfortable routine to her life, just like there was none in mine. She was going through her own firsts and fears. It would take time for each of us to adjust and adapt.
I moved back a step to leave her alone, but she caught sight of me in the mirror and whirled around.
“Grace,” she gasped, her cheeks flushing as if she’d been caught robbing a bank instead of putting on lotion.
Since we were already facing off and I still did not want to attend Southeast, I decided to bring up the matter anyway, though the insight into her had calmed me enough to use a softer voice when I asked, “Are you sure there’s no way I can’t keep attending Hillsburg?”
She sighed, gritting her teeth and narrowing her eyes into slits. With her jaw clamped the way it was, the words growled their way from her throat. “You’re not going to bring that up again, are you?”
> Well, yeah. I thought I just had.
“I can find a part time job on the weekends and pay Adam and Schy for gas money to come pick me up every day.”
“Grace, you’re already enrolled in Southeast and are starting there in the morning.”
“But—”
“No. This isn’t up for re-discussion.”
I stomped my foot. “Mom, you’re not even listening.”
From then on, I lost my grasp on everything I’d been feeling only seconds earlier. All the insight I’d caught into her psyche, the understanding connection, it all vanished and floated off as if I hadn’t even experienced it.
“You’re the one that isn’t listening, Grace. I said no, and that’s final.”
Balling my hands down at my sides, I allowed myself to envision letting that fist fly. But a deep breath later, I calmed and settled for a killer glare. Whirling away, I stomped toward the doorway of her and Barry’s bedroom until I saw him standing in the doorway, watching us. His gaze held sympathy and regret.
I faltered since it’d be rude to bulldoze over the innocent bystander.
He shifted his gaze to my mom. “Kate, maybe she should stay at Hillsburg. She’s used to it and—”
“Don’t even start with me, Barry.”
I glanced back at my mom in time to catch the look she sent him. It wasn’t something a new bride should be shooting her new husband. But it caused Barry to lift his hands and back out of the doorway. In the next second, he disappeared.
“Way to go,” I muttered. “Lose him before you’re even married two months.”
Without waiting around to catch her response, I flounced from the room and went straight to my own domain. Shutting myself inside, I told my friends Hillsburg was a definite no-go. For the next hour or so, I let them console me.
When mom dropped by to warn me I should turn in because the next day was going to be a big one—I needed a good night’s rest—I snarled something like, “Christmas is a big day. My birthday or graduation is a big day. I thought tomorrow was just any other day.”
She sniffed and left me alone, and I purposely stayed up another two hours to spite her, unpacking some of my boxes.
Besides, when I finally did lie down and close my eyes, dreams were the last thing that came. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t lie still, couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen in less than eight hours when I saw Ryder Yates again.
Chapter 5
New school.
Couldn’t breathe.
The winter chill didn’t help. Neither did the restless three hours of sleep I’d managed to snag.
It had snowed overnight but not enough to cancel school, unfortunately. When I exited my room yawning that morning to head toward the shower, I spotted Mom at the kitchen window, a steaming mug of something in her hands as she stared outside at the white-covered backyard.
“Still upset I’m not letting you drive twenty-five miles through this weather today so you can go to Hillsburg?” she asked, keeping her back to me.
She sounded so smug; I didn’t answer, merely directed a dirty glare at her back and continued toward the bathroom. Truth be told, I would’ve rather been in a nice, heated car than walk those eight blocks to school through the frigid weather. It wasn’t just snow either, I discovered as soon as I stepped outside. A layer of ice hid under all the cute, puffy white stuff. It was slippery and miserable, and I cursed my mother the entire trip.
I entered Southeast High School, feeling as Hester Prinn from The Scarlett Letter must’ve felt the first time she had to go grocery shopping after getting her nifty letter A pinned on. Make that a frozen Hester Prinn. Everyone had to be staring and thinking I was the lowest of low. Not that I was wearing a Hillsburg letterman’s jacket or anything—I didn’t even own one—but I was so certain everyone could see some invisible V—for Viking, Hillsburg’s mascot—etched on my forehead every time they glanced my way.
I was such an outsider.
As soon as I stepped into my new life, my guts knotted into a queasy ball of nausea. The wretched cold froze my extremities, the lack of sleep left me with a pounding headache, and every nerve in my body spiked out of control.
I managed a few uneasy grins, but I probably looked more constipated than I did polite.
Two boys leaning against the wall paused talking to stare at me. One girl sitting on the floor with a book propped open on her bent knees even glanced up to momentarily glance my way. It was the most unnerving sensation. The only people inside the spacious commons area not paying me a lick of attention were a pair of chatty cheerleaders decked out in their skirts and leggings as they strolled past.
The dainty, shorter one with her pale hair pulled up high into a perky ponytail brushed by me so close, her shoulder caught my book bag I had hanging off the crook of one elbow. As the strap wrenched my limb around, scraping painfully across the inside of my arm, the cheerleader paused to whirl back and glare at me.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” she railed.
“Sorry.” I readjusted my bag to hook it more securely over my shoulder.
I almost missed the number forty-two painted in purple on her cheek. I faltered and did a double take, catching sight of the two digits again as she turned away, dismissing me, and continued down the hall with her friend.
My mouth fell open as I stared after the two girls, watching the way their pleated purple and white skirts swished back and forth.
Forty-two, my mind kept repeating. Ryder Yates. The only student from Southeast who’d ever talked to me. And that foul, petite, beautiful cheerleader sported his jersey number on her cheek. The juices in my stomach churned so hard my belly actually hurt.
Oh, no.
He had a girlfriend.
My skin suddenly fit all wrong. My scalp prickled and my cheeks heated. My knees went loose and wobbly. A shock wave reverberated through my arms and legs.
I wish I could’ve been all blasé and passed off the inner commotion as anger. The lying, cheating, gorgeous jerk had hit on me barely three weeks ago, and he’d had a girlfriend the entire time? I should’ve been fuming.
Instead, I felt more like bawling.
Despite what I’d claimed so fiercely to my friends, I too had secretly hoped something magical might come from attending Southeast. Something magical that involved a certain boy who bore the number forty-two on his stupid basketball jersey.
I told myself I was probably jumping to conclusions. Just because I’d seen one girl wearing his jersey number on her cheek didn’t mean he was dating anyone. Maybe they were just friends. I’d have worn Adam’s number if he’d been in any kind of sport.
Or maybe the cheerleader had a huge crush on him and wanted to let him know about it. Totally possible, given how dreamy he was. Or maybe, maybe she was his sister and had to wear his number out of family obligation, though her small frame, super blond hair and facial features bore no resemblance at all to Ryder Yates.
Okay, so he more than likely had a girlfriend.
Shake it off. There was one concern gone. I didn’t have to worry about whether he was going to try hitting on me again.
The nervous, sick anxiety coiling inside me dissipated only for an upset, sick disappointment to replace it.
“Oh, get over yourself,” I muttered aloud.
Someone walking past paused to send me a strange look as if he thought I’d been talking to him. When he realized I wasn’t, he crinkled his brow and shifted a wide berth around me.
Super. Now I was going to be known as the new girl who talked to herself.
Ducking my chin into my chest, I started forward until I realized I had no idea where I was going. Deciding I had to keep my chin up in order to find the office, I sighed, lifted my eyes, and thankfully latched on to the sign I needed sticking out from the wall with a finger printed on it, pointing to a doorway with an opened glass access.
Thank goodness one thing had gone right.
I entered the office with hesitant step
s until the woman behind the desk looked up and smiled at me. Her nameplate read Mrs. Alexander.
Shoulders easing as something else in my day went right, I smiled back. “Hi. I’m new here. My mom came in and enrolled—”
“You’re Grace, right?”
More relieved air escaped my lungs. “Right.”
Lifting a stack of papers she already had sitting out on her desk, she issued me my locker and combo, lunch ID, class schedule, school calendar, and bell schedule. Glancing at my class schedule, I immediately scanned it over. English, history, chemistry, computer applications…pretty much the same classes I had at Hillsburg, except—
“This doesn’t show I’m in yearbook,” I said, looking up. “I know I asked my mom to make sure I could be in yearbook.”
Mrs. Alexander winced. “Right. I’m sorry, but that class was full.”
Something Mom had totally neglected to tell me. Had she known and purposely kept it from me? I had a sneaking suspicion she just might’ve.
I looked down to see what other course I had to take to fill that spot. Art 1. Deep inside, I groaned. Art was Schy’s forte, not mine. I couldn’t even draw a straight line without slanting off into a wonky diagonal.
After receiving my pile of papers from the office, Mrs. Alexander sent me next door to speak to the school counselor.
Mr. Howard seemed rushed as he ushered me inside and had me take a seat in the chair across from him, but his smile was genuine as he shook my hand before seating himself.
He glanced over my schedule, nodding as he read, and then announced I had all the core classes I needed. Folding his hands, he leaned forward with an amiable smile as next he asked questions of a more personal nature, making me think he was fishing around to determine if I’d been a problem student at Hillsburg.
But I must’ve answered everything correctly, because he smiled and nodded before flipping open a folder—probably my record. “Well, Hillsburg thought you were an exemplary student. So I must say we’re glad to have you. And personally, I have no concerns because I knew—”
