Helen looked at me and frowned, then shook her head.
"Come on," she said. "I'll think while we walk."
"What a day," I muttered.
"More like what a week," Helen commented drily.
"You can say that again."
"I could, but I won't."
We both laughed, grateful for at least one funny thing that day.
***
Mom was late picking me up. That never happened. Ever.
She was silent and pensive the whole ride home, biting her bottom lip and going five miles over the speed limit.
At home, she forgot my after-school snack, which was fine because I wasn't really hungry anyway. I went upstairs to change into sweats. After changing, I stood still and listened for her voice to call me downstairs.
Nothing.
I went down to the kitchen to get my backpack. Mom was rummaging through the top cabinets where we kept the stuff we never used. She didn't look at me or say anything. The silence was weird.
"Mom?" I asked. "What are you looking for?"
"The silver bowl," she muttered in reply, her head stuck deep in the tiny cabinet.
"Which silver bowl?" We had at least six of them, all shapes and sizes. I only saw them once every six months, when she brought them out to be polished. We never ate off them or had guests over to serve with silver.
"The shallow round one."
"I thought it was in the cabinet above the fridge?"
Mom bumped her head as she pulled it out of the cabinet, wincing slightly, then giving me a tired smile. I smiled back, relieved to see her acting normal again.
"You're probably right, Stephanie," she said, getting down off the stepladder and moving it in front of the fridge. "You always have such a good memory."
"Everyone has a special talent," I quipped, and Mom laughed.
The strain in my shoulders slackened, and I was glad to have at least something in my day go back to normal.
Mom found the bowl she was looking for and took it over to the sink. She turned on the faucet then paused.
"Stephanie," she said somberly without turning around. "Go up to your room."
I blinked.
"Go up to your room and stay there until I tell you."
Instantly, the tension in the room was back with a vengeance.
"Is...is everything okay, Mom?" I asked, watching as she adjusted the faucet so the water was just a trickle.
"Please go up to your room. Now."
I didn't wait to be told again. I grabbed my backpack and ran up to my room. My heart was pounding as I flung myself down on my bed. There had been something in Mom's voice I had never heard before. Something worried. Something almost...angry.
I stayed in my room for the rest of the night, waiting for Mom to tell me it was okay to come out.
She never did.
***
The next morning, I woke up to blindingly bright sunshine. I smiled sleepily to myself, enjoying the feel of light and warmth on my face.
With a happy sigh, I got up, grabbed my clothes and headed for the shower. The combination of sunshine and hot water made me wonder if yesterday had even happened. I mean, of course it had, and everything about it was still confusing. But, I was positive that everything had a logical explanation. Helen would probably explain exactly what it was when I got to school.
In the secrecy of my shower, I allowed myself to daydream of an alternate reality where Haley liked me and Jordan was a pathetic loser. All too soon, the hot water and my imagination ran out, and I had to get on with my day.
Just like yesterday, though, there was no breakfast, and a worried Mom gave me a silent ride to school.
As I climbed the stairs to my locker, I pulled off my light summer sweater. (Did I know that by dressing in layers, I could keep cooler than by exposing my skin to the air?) I breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of dry, hot air on my arms.
There was no sign of Zack or Haley, and I tried not to feel disappointed. I really tried. Helen was waiting for me though, fizzing with impatience, by the looks of it.
"I thought about everything last night," she announced, tapping her foot as I put my stuff away and grabbed my books. "I've come to some preliminary conclusions."
"Dang, Sherlock," I joked.
"Not now, Watson," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "The first part is easy."
"Thank God something is."
"Haley likes you."
"Wait, no. No. That's a cop-out explanation, and you know it."
Helen smiled and shrugged. "The evidence is pretty conclusive. He likes you. Someone was bound to like you sometime. Get over it. Or go with it. Whatever."
"Whatever?" I echoed, unable to believe my ears. "A boy like Haley and a geek like me?"
"Yeah, I know," Helen replied, shaking her head. "I know. Look, just consider it. I'm more interested in what Katie Jones said to you yesterday. I talked to Morris last night. He said he never talked to her about you or mentioned your birthday to her. He had even forgotten when you birthday was."
"Some friend he is," I smirked.
"He'd forget his own name if we didn't remind him," Helen said. "So, she must either know your mother or have access to your student file. I mean, there might be other ways she would come across your birthday, but those are kinda the most likely ones. Right?"
"Indubitably, Holmes," I agreed in a terrible British accent.
"Shut up. Now, we all know your mom doesn't really know anybody outside of the store. You guys never have people over. Your mom doesn't date. She doesn't have any friends. And finally, she's way too over-protective of you. There's no way she'd tell just anybody your birthday."
Helen's analysis was right on, but for the first time, my mom's life struck me as really weirdly isolated. How had I never noticed that before? I mean, it had just been the norm for us. I knew it was different from the way other families were, but I had never felt the urge to ask Mom about why we lived that way. Probably because I didn’t want another lecture.
"So," Helen continued. "This must mean that Katie got access to your file. I don't think she's supposed to have access to it because she's a librarian, though. This makes me kinda worried because why is she so interested in you and your file? Why would she seek you out to talk about your birthday and asking questions?"
The first bell rang, and we started walking towards our classes.
"This is where I ran out of reasonable ideas," Helen admitted. "Now, we're just talking about purely stupid speculation."
"I like speculation," I said with a smile, beyond grateful for Helen's orderly mind and no-nonsense attitude. She grounded me like no one else.
Helen grinned sheepishly and shrugged before saying, "Well, you might not like my ideas. But, here goes. So, the librarian might be part of a kidnapping ring that is looking for 'barely legal' teens or virgins, and —"
"I know," I cut in, rolling my eyes. "My clothes scream virgin."
Helen gave me a speculative look but said nothing.
“Do you real believe in the kidnapping ring?” I asked, a giggle escaping me involuntarily.
"Okay, so, I'm not sure I buy the whole white-slavery-ring thing myself," Helen said. "The other idea I had was that Katie Jones is somehow connected to your family."
I stopped in the middle of the stairs and stared at Helen.
"What?" I exclaimed.
"Well, think about it. She made points about you turning eighteen and having the right to ask questions. It made me think. What do eighteen year olds ask questions about that they weren't allowed to before? The only thing I could come up with is adoption. But, it's easy to tell that you and your mom are related, so that rules out adoption. But what about your father?"
"My father?" I repeated stupidly.
"Yeah," Helen replied slowly, her face full of compassion. "Maybe she was trying to tell you that you should start asking questions about the rest of your family. Why don't you have any aunts or uncles, grandparents, cousins, that sort of thing? Wh
at about your father? As of tomorrow, you legally have the right to ask who he is...or was."
The second bell rang. Helen squeezed my arm sympathetically and ran to class.
I stumbled into European History in a complete daze. If Ms. Collins said something about me being late, I didn't hear it. Slumping into my seat, I just sat and stared at my desk.
Haley's fingers brushed my arm at one point, and I turned to stare blankly at him. He frowned, his hand tightening around my arm, giving it a surreptitious squeeze and shake, as if to get me to focus.
I blinked a couple of times and took a deep breath. He smiled at me and quickly let go of my arm. His smile faded as I went back to staring at my desk, unable to smile or think about anything other than the realizations that ricocheted through my mind.
It was like a giant stone wall that had surrounded me all my life was crashing down around me, and daylight was blinding me with the force of all the things I never thought to question.
Why did Mom and I live such isolated lives? Had I really never heard Mom talk about her family? Did I have any other family? Who was my father? I remember asking her about my father a few times over the years, but she was uncompromising in refusing to say anything about him. Why hadn’t I pushed harder for answers, though?
In my mind, I searched through our house, trying to remember ever seeing photos, letters, Christmas cards, anything. Come to think of it, there weren't even any photos of me and Mom in the house. She had never bothered to buy my school photos, and she never showed me baby pictures or any other mementos of me growing up.
As long as I could remember, Mom had simply been the produce manager at the grocery store, and we had lived in our tiny, old, run-down house on the edge of town.
I thought I heard the bell for the end of class ring, but I wasn't paying attention until Haley had come over to the other side of my desk, grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet.
Startled back into the present, I looked up at him, confused.
"Time for Poetry," he said with a strained smile.
I nodded absently, and he continued to hold my hand as I grabbed my bag.
"Are you alright?" he asked, gently leading me into the hall.
My eyes darted up to meet his. His expression was kind, and warm… and worried.
"Yeah," I replied. "I'm just a little out of it today. I just...I don't know."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
The second bell for class rang, and I started.
"Shoot! We’re late!” I exclaimed.
Haley frowned. "Are you sure you are well enough for class?"
"I'm totally fine," I snapped back in a panic, trying to shake off his hand and book it down the hall.
"This isn't like you, Stephanie."
"How do you know? I mean really? You don't even know me."
Steel fingers closed around my wrist and pulled me toward him.
"Then let me get to know you," he said. "Give me a chance."
I looked frantically around the now-empty hall.
"Class," I said desperately. "Late. Detention."
My brain was officially fried.
"After school?" Haley asked, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. “Come home with me. We can talk there.”
I was wrong. Now my brain was officially fried.
"I can't," I gasped. "Mom. She's waiting. She'll be waiting. I can't. I'm sorry."
Haley closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His expression seemed still, but I suddenly saw tiny, tense lines that pain drew on his face.
"What's wrong?" I whispered.
"You," he replied, opening his eyes and looking down at me with unmistakable tenderness. "You're everything that's wrong in my world and everything that could be right."
He kissed my fingers and let go of my hand as he said, "Go to class. I'll see you later."
“Wait, aren’t you going to class?”
“Hmmm, no. I think I’ll spend some time in the library instead. But,” he added, bending his head down so that his lips brushed my ears. “I’ll be thinking of you the whole time.”
I stood alone in the ugly green hallway, watching as he walked away from me.
Was Helen right? Did Haley really like me, or had Hell just frozen over?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BY THE END of the day, I had a wicked headache.
My hair weighed a thousand pounds on my head, and my eyes ached like I had been straining to see things at a distance…or, maybe just trying to see things that weren’t there…or had never been there? I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head and just think. Or sleep. Sleep would have been fine at that point, too.
As I trudged to my locker, I caught sight of Haley and Zack. They were glaring at each other with clenched fists and tense shoulders.
Instinctively, I ducked behind the open door of an empty classroom.
"I'm tired of waiting!" Haley snapped, his low, raspy voice scraping over the words.
"You can't rush things now, of all times," Zack argued back.
"I'm so close. I've waited so long!"
"I know, but you know the rules."
"Damn the rules!" Haley growled. "This was not my choice."
"There's nothing you can do about it, bro," Zack said with a long-suffering sigh.
"You’re not being very helpful. You could do something."
"Me? Oh no. No. My role here is purely supervisory."
"That's not what you said when you made this deal. You said you wanted to help me, that you were on my side."
"Dude, I've got football practice. I'm busy. I can't just drop that to chase down dead ends."
"Football?"
"Yeah. I'm the quarterback, remember?"
"You're my brother." That word had an odd, terrible depth to it. The sound of Haley’s voice reverberated in my chest as he spoke those two syllables. It was as if he had dropped two iron weights onto each other.
"Quarterback, dude."
"Brother.”
There was a pause.
"Fine," Zack grumbled. "Fine, I’ll see what I can do."
"Of course you will."
"Maybe a little appreciation, bro?"
"If I get what I want, you'll have my undying gratitude, brother."
It was Zack's turn to chuckle.
"Well," he said. "That's something, coming from you, I suppose. I’ll give it a try. No promises, though."
I heard two lockers slam shut, and Zack added, "After football practice."
Haley snorted, and I listened to their retreating footsteps.
Thinking it was safe, I darted out from my hiding place and proceeded to stuff my bag full of the books I would need for homework that weekend.
“Are you going to be able to carry all that?”
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, jumping and spinning around at the sound of Haley’s voice. The weight of my bag added momentum to my spin and carried me in a graceless three-sixty. Dropping the bag to the ground, I turned back to face Haley, ears burning and eyes narrowed.
“You really need to stop sneaking up on me like that,” I scolded him. “It’s bad for my heart. One of these days, I’ll have a heart attack and die, and it will be all your fault.”
Haley’s face twisted comically for a moment before he burst out laughing. “You’re absolutely right. On all counts.”
He grinned at me mischievously, and I couldn’t help but smile back a little bit.
“So,” he said. “What are your plans for the weekend?”
A lifetime of looking for potential mockery in everything had me automatically hyper-analyzing his question before answering. Was this a prelude to a request for a date? Or help with homework? Or just making conversation? Or, was it a set-up for leading me on and getting my hopes up for the fun of it? From what I had seen of him so far, Haley didn’t seem like the type to do that. But, once ingrained, paranoia was a hard habit to shake.
“Oh, the usual,” I replied as nonchalantly as I co
uld. “Work. Homework. Nothing that exciting. What about you?”
Deflection was always a good defensive technique.
“Well, I’ve got homework, too,” Haley said. “But, I was hoping to get some time in for my painting.”
“Painting? You’re an artist?”
“Yeah,” he said with a small, embarrassed smile. “I’m actually not very good at it, but I enjoy it.”
“Why do you think you’re not very good?”
“Because, I’m not. Trust me. I absolutely fail at capturing things the way I want, the way I see them.”
“How do you see them?” My questions were no longer about protecting me from his inquisitiveness. They were now genuinely about this unexpected side of the tall boy with the shadowy eyes standing in front of me.
“I see everything in incredible detail,” he replied. “The texture of concrete, the way people stir the air around them when they move. It’s like I can see layers of colors and more edges and angles to everything. Painting just doesn’t show that as precisely as I want. I’ve tried watercolor, oil, acrylic, pastels, everything.”
“Maybe you should try photography,” I suggested.
“Photography?”
“Yeah, I mean, with digital photography and Photoshop and everything, you should totally be able to get the effects you want. You know, capturing stuff exactly as it is, but distorting it so that you show it exactly as you see it.”
Haley nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good idea. I hadn’t thought of photography. Honestly, I was going to try sculpture next.”
“Sculpture?” I laughed. “You mean like with a hammer and chisel?”
“Why not?“ he replied, smiling. “There are statues that look incredibly realistic, like the person was frozen mid-step.”
“Okay, Leonardo. Whatever. You know how long it would take you to learn how to make a statue like that?”
“I don’t.”
“Neither do I, but it would probably be a really long time. It might not even turn out all that good, and boom, you’ve just wasted two tons of marble or whatever.”
Haley laughed, and I relished the smoky sound of it.
“You don’t think I could do sculpture?” he asked, a smirk on his lips.
“Honestly? I think it would probably be an epic fail.”
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