"It's you," I said, rolling my eyes. "I can't catch a break."
Jordan looked at me, his face wiped clean of all emotion. "Hi to you, too."
"Yeah, right." I stared into his eyes then dashed off to English. I barely made it to my seat before the tardy bell rang. Sally gave me a quizzical look, and I shrugged.
Was Laine my official enemy now? Along with Janae? I was pretty sure they both hated me.
Even with his absence of expression, Jordan had looked like a total stud standing by my locker. In those couple seconds, I'd been drawn to his eyes. Had I imagined a fleeting look of pain when I brushed him off before bolting to class?
I couldn't figure him out. I squeezed my hands together. I didn't like him, did I?
Visions of Marc's tender face filled my mind. Marc didn't want me anymore, didn't trust me not to hurt him again. I got it. But now I was the one who was hurting. Marc's face morphed in my mind, turning into Jordan's with his reluctant smile and guarded eyes.
I shook my head. Insanity. I had enough to worry about without adding Jordan Lawman to the mix. With steel resolve, I turned my thoughts to Mrs. Winder and Chaucer.
****
The decorations committee met in the empty supply room after school. When I walked in, I almost tripped on the wall-to-wall pieces of cardboard, boxes of balloons and markers, and packages wrapped in cellophane. Freshmen and sophomores bustled around, stacking supplies. Some were sketching out scenes on sections of butcher paper taped to the walls.
"Emili, cut open the packages," Janae said, throwing me a pair of scissors.
I jumped back, and the scissors fell to the floor, piercing the cardboard at my feet as if making a bull's eye.
Jordan turned to Janae and grabbed her arm. "You threw scissors at her? What's wrong with you?"
"Hey, I figured she'd catch them. Man, Jordan, lighten up."
"Then it's okay with you if she throws them back when she's finished?"
Janae's lips tightened. She raised her head. "Fine. I see what you mean." She glanced over at me. "Sorry."
"Yeah, whatever," I mumbled and bent to pick up the scissors. I walked over to the cellophane packages and sliced them open. They were the prefab sleigh cutouts for the photo booth. I pulled them to a corner and sat to piece them together.
Jordan came over and crouched beside me. "Sorry. She's not usually such a jerk."
"Could've fooled me."
He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the sides.
"Wow, you laugh." I opened my mouth in exaggerated shock.
His face registered surprise. "What d'you mean?"
"I've hardly ever heard you laugh. Oh, never mind."
"Don't think I've heard you laugh, either."
"Ha. Ha. There. Now you have."
"Wow, truly amazing, Jones."
Then I did laugh — for real. "Yeah, wasn't it, though? Want to help me put these together?"
He plunked onto the tile floor beside me. "Why not?" he said, and his smile reached his whole face.
I felt a tingling in my stomach, and a tiny seed of warmth began to grow. I kept my eyes averted. Maybe I did like him. No, no, no. From past experience, it would be sure disaster. Someone was going to be hurt, and that someone was going to be me. This guy was still crazy about his ex-girlfriend. How could I compete with a ghost? And did I want to?
Where would I rustle up one ounce of energy to try?
My breath quickened, and I got to my knees. A sudden urge to bail overcame me. "Uh, you could do this alone," I said in a stilted voice.
Jordan dropped the piece of cardboard he was holding, and his eyes found mine. "Why? You leaving?"
I scrambled to my feet. "Yeah, my dad's coming." I stepped back, gave him a quick glance, ignored the question I saw in his eyes, and rushed out of the room.
I burst into the hallway and slumped against the wall right outside the door. What was the matter with me? He'd think I was insane, fleeing like an endangered animal.
I peeled myself from the wall and started toward the front door. Crap. I'd left my backpack in the supply room. No way was I going back in there.
I cringed. I wasn't the kind who skipped homework, but everything else was changing these days, so why shouldn't that change, too?
Dad wasn't outside and wouldn't be for another half hour. I was too restless to wait. Besides, if Jordan looked out and saw me, he'd know I was a liar. I'd start walking. It was a long way, and I'd never make it before Dad came to get me, but I knew the route he'd take. I could meet him halfway.
A coating of ice covered the tree branches, and they crackled in the wind. I pulled my collar up and tried to shrink inside my coat like a turtle trying to hide. I wished I could hide. I wished I could put my whole life into hide mode and pretend nothing had changed. The wind blasted my face. I put my gloved hand across my mouth and part of my cheeks to create a makeshift shield. Didn't help much. Before long, I'd be an ice statue.
Frozen patches along the sidewalk reflected the lowering sun. Soon, it'd be dark. It usually was dark before dinner these days. I hated short winter days. Last summer had been such a blast — swimming at the city pool, Farah sleeping over, family road trips, slurping up dripping ice cream cones, and watching black-and-white movies. I wanted to step into a time machine and go back to when life was easy and boring and I never wondered when Sarah would return to normal and start talking or how Dad was feeling or why Mom was late from work.
My stomach twisted like a tangled rope. What was Mom doing, besides acting weird and secretive and angry twenty-four seven?
The air bit at me, but I kept walking. Lights flipped on inside the houses I passed as it got darker and darker. A car horn blared and I jumped, almost falling. It blared again, longer, and I turned around to see Dad's silhouette through the windshield. I hadn't expected him to drive up from behind.
Chapter Seven
On my way to the curb, I slipped on the ice and slammed into the car door. I righted myself and climbed into the car.
"What were you thinking?" Dad asked. "I've been waiting at the school. I'd still be there if some girl hadn't told me you'd left." He ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up into thorny spikes. "I thought you'd been kidnapped or something."
"I was going to meet you halfway."
Dad hit his hand on the steering wheel, and I jerked back. "I'm too angry to discuss this now. We'll talk later."
I bit my lip. I should've called him — he was right to be mad.
"Sorry, Dad," I said again. I sat still and stared at my gloves. He was silent, so I sneaked a peek sideways. He hadn't shaved and stubble protruded in bristling points from his tight jaw. His lips were pressed together. When he glanced at me, there was a sad droopiness around his eyes.
I'd hurt his feelings.
My throat swelled, and for a minute I was about to reach over and pat his shoulder. I stopped myself and swallowed hard, keeping my eyes down. He wouldn't want my pity. We were both quiet the rest of the way home.
Dinner was a silent affair. All of us chewed and swallowed, not looking at one another. Anybody watching would have thought we were the most serious eaters in the world.
When I was ready to take my plate to the sink, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it."
Mom looked at me and nodded. Sarah and Dad were both intent on their next bite. I walked to the door, opened it, and did a double take. Jordan. My breath snagged in my throat.
"Hey, Emili, sorry to bother you, but you left this." He held out my backpack as if offering a peace pipe.
"You brought it to my house? How'd you know where I live?"
"Not so hard. Don't you know how easy it is to find things online?" Jordan smiled, and for the first time I noted one dimple was deeper than the other.
He continued to hold out my backpack. "You do want it, don't you?"
"Oh, sorry." I took the bag. "Thanks."
"No problem." A wisp of hair fell across his eyes, and I tightened my fists to keep from brushing
it aside.
"Did you want to come in?" I hoped he'd say yes, but I figured he wouldn't. This thing between us, whatever it was, couldn't happen.
"Okay," he said, shocking me. He brushed my arm as he walked into the living room, and I felt the cold crispness of his jacket through the thin sleeve of my blouse. He turned and waited.
"You want to sit?" I asked, gesturing to the couch. He sat but didn't take his coat off. I joined him but on the opposite end. I placed my backpack between us.
"Who is it?" Mom called from the kitchen.
"A friend," I answered.
Jordan moved his head toward me with a smug look on his face. "So, I've graduated to friend?"
I laughed. "I guess."
He looked around the room. "Nice house."
I followed his gaze. Our living room wasn't anything special. In fact, I thought the furniture looked tired and worn out. A fuzzy brown blanket covered the recliner to hide a hole in the seat. The TV was bulky and old, and the curtains at the window sagged like droopy sheets on a hot summer day. Still, I guessed it was comfortable enough.
"Lived here long?"
"My whole life."
"You went to Bates until now?"
"Yep."
"How was it?"
"Good."
Jordan chuckled. "Wow, aren't we the talkers? I'm breathless with excitement."
I leaned over the backpack and punched his arm. "You're the one who came over unannounced."
"Yeah, I did. Want me to go?"
I shrugged. "You can stay."
Mom walked into the living room, smoothing back her dark curls. When she saw Jordan, she straightened her blouse and arranged her face into a pleasant smile. "Emili, who's your friend?"
"Jordan. Jordan, this is my mom."
"Nice to meet you, ma'am."
"Oh, please don't call me ma'am, makes me feel ancient." She flashed him a full-out smile, showing her slightly crooked front teeth.
Whoa. Was she flirting with him? I was going to be sick.
Jordan laughed. "Okay, sorry."
I heard Dad coughing in the kitchen, and then he came to join us, his glance darting from Mom to Jordan to me. He walked to Jordan and stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm the dad."
"How d'you do?" Jordan shook Dad's hand.
"Nancy, why don't we leave these young people alone? Come on, dishes await."
Mother glared at him and then turned back to Jordan. "Welcome again, and feel free to come anytime."
Dad took her elbow and guided her back to the kitchen.
"Nice parents."
"They used to be," I wanted to say. Instead, I nodded.
Now what were we supposed to talk about? "So, who's Pamela?" I blurted. My hand flew to my mouth.
Jordan flinched and said nothing. He studied the pattern on the arm of the couch as if it were a tapestry in a museum.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"A girl." He paused, and then added, "We went out since seventh grade."
"Seventh grade? No way."
"I know, right? Not long ago she moved."
"Yeah, Sally and Margo told me."
"Sally and Margo." Jordan shook his head and rolled his eyes. "They talk too much."
"I like them," I said. I did like them, and not just because they were the only girls at Edgemont High who wanted to be my friends.
"Me, too. You can't help it." He chuckled. "Pamela and I broke up after she moved. I didn't want to, but she did."
"Rough."
His eyes had a faraway look in them. "No kidding. More like horrid."
"Been there."
"You don't say." His voice dripped sarcasm.
I glowered.
"Pretty obvious, Jones. You've got a chip a mile wide on your shoulder."
"Do not." I squirmed and crossed my arms. This was getting way too personal for me. "How would you know, anyway? We've barely met."
"Let's say one chip-on-the-shoulder to another." He reached over and put his hand on my arm. I was sure his burning touch would leave a permanent imprint. "I'm not trying to insult you."
"Not insulted," I said a bit too fast.
"Good, so we understand each other."
"I think we understand each other fine."
He laughed again. "Friends, then."
I looked at his eager brown eyes. The flecks of yellow in them were shining, and his right dimple danced. He was gorgeous, no two ways about it. "Friends."
He stuck out his hand, and we shook. Then he got up and headed for the door.
"Thanks for my backpack."
"No problem." He turned back to me and grinned. "Glad to bring it."
The same nugget of warmth I'd felt earlier at school glowed in my chest.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
"Tomorrow, then?" he asked.
"Tomorrow."
****
I sat on my bed with my homework organized around me. Tidy stacks of books surrounded my pillow. My pens and sharpened pencils lay tucked in a turquoise plastic case, ready to go. Thanks to Jordan, I wouldn't have to turn in one thing late. I picked up my favorite purple pen to start my Spanish homework. The song "Dígame Algo" circled through my mind. With a start, I realized I was humming it. Humming!
I couldn't remember the last time I'd hummed anything. I'm not much of a singer, not much of a musician of any kind, but I used to sing around the house all the time. Sarah and I used to have sing-offs. We'd belt out some song until Mom would plead with us to stop. One time, Mom crawled around behind us on her knees with her arms outstretched, begging us to cease and desist. Sarah and I had laughed so hard we'd nearly gagged.
Those days were over.
Yet here I was, humming again. It felt good, as if I'd found my runaway pet. I bent my head over my work with a burst of energy. I was going to whip this homework out in no time.
I had finished up both Spanish and English when I heard muffled sobs from the hallway. I poked my head out the door, and there was Sarah, crumpled in front of Mom and Dad's room. When I got closer, I heard them inside their bedroom, arguing. I squatted and listened.
"You can't blame me for the books in the toilet," Dad said, and then I heard a choking sound.
"I didn't blame you, David. But it's one more thing. And take some cough syrup. You sound like a sick crow."
"Sarah's confused, and she's hurting. If you were ever home, you'd notice."
"Oh, that's rich, coming from you. Aren't you the father who was gone from dawn to dusk — when you had a job, that is." Mom's words cut through the air.
The arguing stopped. I put my hand over Sarah's mouth to stifle her crying.
"I have a job." Dad's voice was so quiet I could barely hear him.
"Part-time," Mom retorted.
I pulled Sarah to her feet and led her into my room. I shoved my homework to the side, and we both sank to the bed. Sarah shriveled into me, and I put my arms around her.
"It's my fault." She hiccupped. "I threw the books."
"They're not arguing about books."
"Yes, they are. You heard."
I caressed the hair from her forehead. "I know what we heard. Trust me, Sarah, it's not about the books."
"We can't pay," she said.
"Yes, we can. Don't worry." I'll do the worrying for you.
"Emili?"
"Yeah."
"Nothing's fun anymore."
"It'll be fun again. You'll see."
How long ago had I been humming? A few minutes? A half hour? Forever?
****
Two days later, on Saturday, I woke up early and could hear the rain splatting the window outside. I rolled over and snuggled the covers up to my neck. No reason to get up. I reached over for my MP3 player and clicked on Razor Wilde. Rain or not, he'd put me in a good mood. I sighed, burrowed down, and dozed back off.
"Emili!" Mom shook me awake. "Get up. Sarah's gone."
I blinked and rubbed my eyes. "What do you mean 'gone'?"
"Her bed is
empty. She's gone."
Cold fear clutched my heart. I threw the blankets off and jumped out of bed. "Did you try her cell?"
"No answer. Did she say anything to you?"
"No, nothing."
Dad rushed into my room. "Not in the garage or the backyard. Where'd she go?"
"Emili, think. You're the only one she's talking to," Mom said.
"She didn't say anything. Did you call Becky or Janae or Jara? She used to tell them everything at Bates."
"All of them. They haven't talked in weeks."
Dad grabbed Mom's arm. "I'll call the police."
Mom's eyes stretched wide.
The panic inside me squeezed tighter. "Remember, Mom, when Farah was missing? She turned up fine the same day."
"Sarah's in fifth grade, Emili. Fifth grade! She's still a baby."
I sucked in my breath. "We'll find her."
I pulled on my jeans and a sweatshirt and ran out to the entryway for my coat. Dad was already on the phone. "I have a photo…"
"I'm going out to look. I have my cell. Call me if you find her!" I charged out the door into the heavy rain. My hair was drenched in seconds. I swiped at my dripping face with the back of my hand, but it didn't help. I raced toward the park at the end of the next street. Sarah and I used to hide there in a hut on the monkey bars when we were younger. The perfect hiding spot. I increased my speed. The puddles splashed up my jeans, and the muddy water seeped through to my legs.
Please be there, Sarah.
The park loomed ahead, a gray blur in the rain. My breath came in choked pants, and my lungs constricted. I was not a runner and had little endurance. The park was limp and forlorn — nobody but me was stupid enough to be out in this downpour. At the entrance, I slid to a halt. The mud oozed into my shoes.
"Sarah!" I called. "Sarah!"
No answer. I shoved my bangs from my eyes and headed over to walk around each piece of equipment.
"Sarah!"
I grabbed the slippery rungs of the monkey bars and climbed to the plastic hut. She had to be inside. My head cleared the floor, and my spirits sank. All I saw was a soggy pile of wet candy wrappers in the corner.
Along Came Jordan Page 7
