I might have found out how much Marc cared if Lance hadn’t shown up — like it would mean anything. For a moment there, I was certain Marc was going to fight Lance.
My cheeks burned. What was I thinking? Fight for me? Who was I kidding? There would be no fight. Marc had retreated fast enough.
Maybe Lance would’ve fought for me.
I was back to being a Drama Queen. Was I hoping for a fight?
Lance grabbed my coat sleeve to slow me down. “What are you thinking about? You look like a crime detective.”
“Sorry. A lot on my mind.” I slowed my pace, and our steps fell into sync.
“I know.”
“Not just about me leaving, but about the money my family’s losing. And Sarah’s a mess. Farah’s been acting like a total nut case, too.” For once, I wasn’t sorry I’d brought Farah into the conversation. I was becoming more and more alarmed by her behavior and wanted someone to talk about it with.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s missing school and she’s sick a lot. I’ve never seen her sick before. She doesn’t get sick. Plus she’s a total crank.”
“Maybe she’s upset.”
“What did you hear?”
Lance’s eyes widened. “Man, Cecily, nothing. She’s upset about you, of course. She doesn’t want you to leave.”
“I don’t think that’s it.”
He shrugged. “I’m just saying. Hey, can you come to the library again?”
I stared at him. “Go to the library again with you?” I was having trouble switching topics so abruptly.
“Yeah. Want to?”
“My mom would rather I played in traffic.”
“No, Emili. To study this time.”
“Right,” I said, dragging out the word. But he wasn’t smirking. “For real? You want to study for real? Okay, I can ask her. What time you want to meet?”
“At seven. This time tell her up front I’ll be there. I’m not big on studying, but we’ve got the algebra unit junk.”
“Algebra unit junk.” I repeated and laughed. “I’ll ask her, but don’t hold your breath or be mad if she says no.”
A car horn blasted behind us. We both jumped. I jerked around and there was Mom pulling to the curb. She motioned for me to get in the car.
“I have to go.” I dashed to the car and jumped in.
“Sorry about the honking, but we have to hurry,” Mom said as she pulled back into the traffic.
“Hurry where?”
“We have an appointment at Edgemont High. I already picked up your transcripts from Bates.”
“Why are we going now? I have over a week left.”
“Look, there’s no time to squabble about it. I’m taking an extra-long coffee break from work to do this. Let’s get it done.”
I sighed as loudly as I dared. Mom was obviously in no mood for argument. “Fine. But can’t you mail my stuff in? Why do I have to be there? ”
“It’s not the way we do things, Emili. We go in person. I want to make sure it’s done right. I feel bad enough about this as it is. The least I can do is make sure you get enrolled with no problems.”
We were nearly there. Edgemont High’s parking lot extended forever, and it was still full since they got out later than Bates. Of course, our classes started earlier than theirs, so it evened out. I’d been at Edgemont High exactly five times before for basketball games, and we always went in the gym entrance. I didn’t know what the school was like in the main area, but it was obviously way bigger than Bates.
Mom swung into the lot and we found a space to park at the far end. She yanked up the parking brake. “Come on, let’s hurry.” She grabbed a manila envelope out of the back seat and we were off.
I realized I was still wearing my uniform. Perfect. Nothing like announcing I was a private school girl. Wouldn’t you know I’d worn my short coat, too, so my uniform was totally sticking out.
Mom practically ran to the front door. “Come on, Emili, I have to get back to work in twenty minutes.”
I walked faster, but I wasn’t about to run into Edgemont High. How totally desperate would that look? We pressed a button to be buzzed in. When we pushed through the two sets of heavy glass doors, we were greeted by a cop standing in the middle of the hallway.
“You’ll need to sign in at the front office,” she said. She hiked up her belt and struck a pose like she was straddling a horse.
“Good grief,” Mom said under her breath, “you’d think we were breaking into the White House.” More loudly she said, “Yes ma’am, headed there right now.”
Three guys were in the hallway paying no attention to us — which suited me fine. The office was located in a round depression in the middle of the school’s massive entrance. There were circular stairs around the depression that climbed up to a second floor and then a third. All the rooms opened out into the round area looking straight down to the office. It was a strange plan, but I liked it. Above, a few students hung over the rails on the open side of the hallway.
Wow, this would be a great place to take a flying leap to your death. Maybe the design wasn’t so cool after all.
“Emili, let’s go,” Mom called and shoved open the office door.
Inside the office, a frizzy-haired woman stood behind a long counter. Granny glasses were perched halfway down her nose. Her blouse stretched tight, gaping open between the buttons right at her… um… her… I didn’t want to think about it myself. Guess it would make a great show for the guys.
“Yes?” she said. Her voice was light and friendly, and I completely forgot about her too-tight blouse.
“We’re here to register my daughter,” Mom said.
My attention was grabbed by a soft snort. I glanced behind me and there sat two girls in overstuffed beige chairs.
“New, huh?” one of them asked. It sounded cliché, but she could’ve walked out of a photo shoot. Light brown hair feathered around her face. When she moved her head, it swayed ever-so-gently. I’d never before seen such thick lashes. They surrounded light hazel eyes, which were checking me out. I felt like I was standing there in my swimming suit.
The other girl was tall. She had to be because even sitting down, she was a head taller than model girl. She was cute, too, though not in the same league.
I nodded.
“Private school girl,” the tall one said.
“Yes, I see,” agreed the model.
“Hi,” I said.
Both of them stared without responding.
Finally, the tall one asked, “What year?”
“Sophomore.”
My answer obviously didn’t please them. They looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
“Come here, Emili,” Mom said. “This is Mrs. Atterbury. She’s the secretary. You’ll report here on your first day to get your schedule.”
I walked to the counter.
“Yes, my dear Miss Emili Jones. If you have any problems at all, our counselor is the person to see. His name is Mr. Davis, and he’s one nice man.” Mrs. Atterbury’s head bobbed when she spoke.
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Here are two passes. Put them right around your necks and you can wonder the halls a bit. Make sure they show, or you could get arrested.” She issued a high throaty laugh and her head nodded crazily like a deranged bobble-head. She reached over the counter and lightly slapped my mother’s arm. “I’m joking!” Then she sobered. “No honestly, it’s true. You could be arrested.”
Mom smiled and I could tell she wasn’t sure how to react. I could read her thoughts as if they were printed on a billboard: What have we gotten you into?
In the meantime, I felt the two girls staring holes in my back. “Come on, Mom, let’s go.” I pulled her out of the office.
“Emili, there’s no time to look around. What do you say we glance down the hallway over there and call it good? Maybe we’ll have time for a more complete tour later.”
“I don’t want to take a tour at al
l. Ever,” I said. As the words left my mouth, the bell sounded. There was an explosion of energy — feet, arms, backpacks, and laughing bodies pouring from every door.
What timing. Mom and I were immediately surrounded on all sides by moving masses of kids.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said over the commotion.
A water balloon landed right at my feet. The water exploded out spraying everyone nearby. I heard roaring laughter coming from above. “Sorry, down there!” someone yelled.
“What the—” cried a huge had-to-be-football player to my right.
“You suck!” hollered another one to my left.
“I said sorry!” the voice above yelled again.
Mom grabbed me and plowed toward the front door. As we were leaving, I saw the model out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t help myself; I looked her way. She gawked at me, lifted her arm, pointed, and raised her eyebrows.
I pivoted back toward the door and rushed out. Was she threatening me? Who does that? It was like a scene from a cheap mob movie.
Mom and I hustled to the car and jumped in. We tried to catch our breath and sat with our chests heaving, staring out through the windshield.
“What happened back there?” Mom asked.
“No clue.”
“Surely, every day isn’t such a zoo.”
“How could it be?” I asked.
“This is going to be quite a change.”
“You think?”
“I’m sorry, Emili. Maybe it won’t be so bad. You’ll adjust though, right?”
I continued to sit, staring. “Welcome to public school,” I answered.
****
Mom dropped me off in front of our house. “Wish I could go in, but I’m due back at work. Besides, your dad’s home. Of course, where else would he be?” She attempted a laugh, but it came out like a cackle. “I’ll be home for dinner. Dad’s cooking — if he needs help, give him a hand.”
“Okay, Mom. See ya.” I climbed out of the car and slammed the door. When I got inside, there was Dad, slumped on the couch like usual. He jumped up when he saw me.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey. Home already? Boy, the day flies by.”
“What do you mean ‘home already’? I’m late.”
“You are? Don’t have your schedule figured out yet.”
“Is Sarah here?”
“In her bedroom.” He motioned down the hall with his head.
I didn’t mention Edgemont High, no use rubbing in salt. For sure I didn’t want to tell Sarah. She’d start wailing all over again. Besides, I needed time to digest the whole scene.
Bates had never looked so good.
“Sent out some applications today,” Dad said.
“Didn’t you work this morning at McDafe’s?”
“Yes, dear, I haven’t lost both jobs. My schedule was a bit flexible so I spent time on the Internet at the library. No matter what you think, I’m working hard to get another job. I want to come through for you — for Sarah, for all of us.”
“I know Dad.”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad.”
So people keep saying, I thought snidely.
“How long do you think it will take? You know, to get another job.” I couldn’t keep the hope out of my voice.
Dad sighed. “No idea. Stay positive. What I meant was maybe public school won’t be so bad.” He smiled. “You know, see how other people live.”
“Not funny.”
“Trying to lighten the mood. I went to public school my entire life, and I turned out okay.”
“Not worried about turning out okay. I don’t want to leave my friends.” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else. How could I tell him my stomach was cramping after a single ten-minute visit to Edgemont?
He sighed. “I know you don’t want to leave your friends. I’m sorry.”
“You’ll get another job. Who wouldn’t want you, right?”
He smiled ruefully. “Right. In the meantime, at the beginning of the month you’ll have to enroll in public.”
Already enrolled, I wanted to say. Instead, I nodded and went to my bedroom. There plastered on the wall was the pennant from Bates Academy. I’d always liked it because the fluorescent orange and black colors gave it a classy look. Now, it mocked me. I walked over and pulled it off the wall and a chunk of paint flew off. Way to go, brainiac. Now, in addition to the useless pennant, I had a lovely faded spot and missing paint.
Sometimes, the harder you tried to fix something, the worse it got. What was that old phrase? “No good deed goes unpunished.” The shadow pennant mark mocked me. Ripping it off wasn’t exactly a good deed, but the saying seemed to apply.
My phone rang and I checked the caller ID.
“Jeannie?”
“Emili, hi. Could I talk with you tomorrow? Maybe after school in study hall?”
“I’m not signed up.”
“You could sign up tomorrow morning in the office.”
“Yeah, I guess. What’s this about?”
“I’d rather talk to you in person.”
“We see each other all day you know.”
“I know. Can’t you meet me after school?”
“Fine. After school.” I hung up, puzzled. What could this possibly be about? Jeannie and I never talked with each other anymore. I scanned my mind for some idea. Had I said something or maybe hurt her feelings? Nothing came to mind.
****
The next morning, I signed up for afterschool study hall. The secretary, Mrs. Biggs, raised her eyebrows two inches. Nobody ever willingly signed up for afterschool study hall. I shrugged and left the office.
When I saw Jeannie in class, she avoided my eyes as if we were complete strangers. Weird. I couldn’t imagine what she wanted with me. By the time classes were over, I was beyond curious. I walked into the library and saw her sitting alone at the back table tapping her pencil and craning her neck to see everyone who came through the door.
I walked over, scooted back the heavy wooden chair and sat down. I plunked my backpack on the table.
“Jeannie, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”
She straightened her shoulders and pulled her uniform blouse down over her thick waist with shaking fingers. She was chewing the inside of her lip and her eyes darted back and forth, not focusing on me.
“Well?” I prompted her.
“We need to talk.” I was surprised to see her eyes fill with tears. She coughed and blinked rapidly. “It’s about Marc.”
“Marc?”
“He’s my boyfriend now.”
“I’m aware, Jeannie. You kind of asked my permission.”
“I didn’t ask your permission, I merely checked to see if he was free.”
This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about Marc. I felt uncomfortable whenever his name was brought up. And that fact alone, made me squirm.
Jeannie coughed again. “I want a favor.”
“I can’t do any favors about Marc. I barely talk to him anymore.”
“It’s not what I heard.”
I made a face. “What are you getting at?”
“As one woman to another, quit calling and texting him.”
I shoved back from the table. “What are you talking about? And we’re hardly women.”
She dropped the pencil and placed her hand flat on the table in front of me. “Don’t get mad, Emili, and don’t leave. Please.” The tears were in her eyes again.
I scooted back up to the table.
“You call him and you texted him the other day.”
“Was it on the nightly news or something?”
She frowned. “Not exactly.”
“Well?”
“Marc and I were hanging out, and he mentioned it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Marc and I are still friends, and I needed to talk to him.”
“It’s more than friends, Emili. As least it is to Marc. How do I have a chance with you still around
?”
Looking down at her hands, she picked at a hangnail. The deep breath she took seemed to catch in her throat. An avalanche of tears seemed imminent.
I moved closer. “You two are together, aren’t you? It’s a done deal.”
“Not as done as you think.”
I leaned back in my chair and cocked my head. “He still likes me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think so, and I already have a boyfriend. Marc and I are only friends, nothing else.”
Jeannie’s eyes were large and teary. “Quit calling and texting him, okay?”
“You don’t have to worry. I’m not the kind of girl who guys moon after.”
Jeannie shook her head. “Farah’s twisted you. She’s ruined you. I’ve been watching it for months and months.”
“Farah’s my friend.”
“Oh, we’re all aware.” Jeannie rubbed her forehead. “Sorry Emili, I don’t mean to bash Farah. It’s not why I asked you to come.”
I stood up. “You can stop worrying, Marc and I are over.”
She smiled then, a sorry-looking, unconvinced smile. “Thanks.”
Some people called Jeannie chubby, but right then she appeared strangely slight. A surge of sadness washed over me. I remembered the days when we were good friends.
I’d started to go, then paused. “Hey, maybe we could hang out again sometime.”
She wiped at her tears. “Maybe we could. Sometime.”
****
Later during the afternoon, I was sitting in my room thinking about Jeannie when the phone rang.
“Farah. You sick again?”
“I’m coming over. Be ready.” She hung up.
Since when did Farah warn me she was coming over? What was I supposed to be ready for? Her voice sounded funny, muffled. Was she still sick? Why would she be coming over if she was sick — I didn’t want her germs. It didn’t make sense. Of course, she could be faking it again and wanting to sneak off with Pete or her dad.
That was probably it. Or she’d already sneaked off, and she was coming over so she could tell her mom she’d been with me the whole time. Emili Jones: the perfect decoy.
The Lance Temptation Page 11
