by E. J. Mara
I made my way around the side of the house, glancing at the tulips Jonathan had said he’d liked. The tulips that we didn’t plant. The tulips that he would never see again because there was no way he’d ever step foot in our house again. After all, Jonathan hated liars. And I was a liar.
Sighing, I unlocked our back door and stepped inside to find Mom and Van kissing on the couch.
My stomach turned at the sight.
They untangled themselves and jumped off the couch like a couple of embarrassed tweens who’d been caught by a parent.
I pretended to be unfazed and said, “Hey,” while I set my book bag down and headed to the kitchen.
“Hi, sugar plum,” Mom replied in an awkward high-pitched voice as she followed me into the kitchen, Van close at her heels.
“Hey, Libby,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”
I forced a smile that I didn’t feel and said, “You too,” while I looked around the kitchen, wondering what I could get into.
I wasn’t particularly hungry or particularly in the mood for Mom’s criticism about my eating habits, but I needed comfort. And sometimes food is the best source of comfort you can get.
Recalling the ice cream and waffle cone Mom had attempted to eat last night, I opened the freezer and addressed Van over my shoulder, “Is that your truck out front?”
Van laughed. “If I ever buy a truck like that, I give you my official consent to have me checked for brain damage.”
I smiled, and this time it was genuine. Grabbing the vanilla ice cream and pack of cones, I said, “Good, because I can’t in good conscience allow my mother to see a Ford F-150 kind of guy.”
“What?” Van chuckled. “You don’t want her with a guy who calls her “articulate” and complements her on her “Caucasian” features?”
I dumped my snack prep on the kitchen island and laughed as I looked at Van. “So, she told you about that dude?”
He nodded and leaned against the other side of the island, watching me grab an ice cream scoop and get to work on building my cone. “The guy from Mississippi who thought he’d sweep her off her feet on their first date by telling her she was “one of the articulate ones” and how pretty she was thanks to her ‘Caucasian’ nose. A real winner. I’m shocked she didn’t call him for a second date.”
I smiled politely, and didn’t point out that Mom had gone out with the guy a second time, and then a third, and then few dozen more times before stealing over $500,000 from him.
I glanced at Mom, surprised that she’d even told Van about her first date with him. One of her rules was to never tell one man about the other. Not even in fun.
Mom had her arms crossed, watching me with a serious expression on her face.
I froze, realizing that I was really pushing my luck with the ice cream.
If I’d grabbed a slice of bread, she would have been annoyed. An ice cream cone was way worse.
Oh well. I’ve already lost the boy I like. So, why not send my mom into a silent rage while I’m at it?
“Yeah, he was fantastic,” I said, returning the carton of ice cream and cones to the freezer. “A racist hick with a bright red Ford F-150. As soon as Mom saw that truck, she should have known what to expect.”
“Sugar plum, that’s not nice,” Mom finally said. “You can’t always judge a book by its cover. I’m sure there are plenty of pick-up truck drivers out there who are decent, non-racist people.”
I snorted. “Right. Sure. Just like there are lots of people with Trump bumper stickers who are super open-minded.”
“That’s quite enough,” Mom said, her tone a warning. My mom hated it when I talked about politics. Probably because we didn’t see eye to eye.
“I’m just stating my opinion, which has been refined by multiple observations.” I leaned against the refrigerator and took a bite of my ice cream cone, savoring the sweet flavor.
Van lost his smile and looked from me to my mom.
The kitchen sank into silence, except for the sounds of me eating the ice cream cone.
“Well,” Van cleared his throat. “The truck out front is just a loaner. I had car trouble this morning and the dealership is letting me use the truck until tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Sorry about that.”
He smiled. “It’s okay, I’ll live.”
“Van,” my Mom said. “Do you mind if we catch up tomorrow? Libby and I have a few things to talk about.”
I paused mid-bite.
What?
I tensed.
Were we moving sooner than expected?
At this thought, panic flared in my gut.
I wanted to help with the Farrah Duncan case and even though it was far-fetched, I also wanted to at least try and clear things up with Jonathan before we moved away. We couldn’t leave Sunnyville yet!
“Oh, sure,” Van said, backing away. He looked a little hurt, but did his best to cover it with a smile. He planted a quick kiss on my mom’s cheek and waved goodbye to me. “I’ll catch you ladies later. Bye.”
“Bye,” I said, wishing he weren’t leaving and that my mom and I weren’t about to have the conversation that I thought we were going to have.
I looked at my ice cream cone, and suddenly it was incredibly unappetizing. I threw it in the trash and glanced at my mother.
She seemed slightly pleased by this. I think… well, it was hard to tell with her sometimes.
Her arms still crossed, she pursed her lips and didn’t quite look at me as she said, “Amanda, I’m disappointed.”
“But I threw it away!” I exclaimed.
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
I blinked back at her.
If we weren’t talking about her disappointment with my eating habits, what were we talking about?
“Um, I don’t know?” I confessed.
“I’ll put it this way,” Mom said, meeting my eyes. “Tell me where you were today.”
My face went hot and I looked down at the counter. “At Marvin’s Diner.”
“Why on earth were you in a diner on a school day?” Mom asked, her voice low and quiet.
“Kimberly wanted to meet up there and just… talk. There’s, like,” I paused, wondering how much I should say. “There’s a lot going on in her life and she needed to talk.”
Mom assessed me through practiced eyes.
“It’s all right that you’re not telling me everything,” she said, her tone much calmer than the look on her face. “I expect that. You’re old enough to have your own personal life. But, when it comes to school- you can’t miss it, Amanda. When you skip school, that makes both of us look bad. And when both of us look bad, the police can get involved. Do you understand?”
My mouth going dry, I nodded.
I wasn’t exactly surprised that my mother somehow found out I’d skipped, but I wanted to know how.
“Your principal called me this afternoon,” she said, as if reading my mind. “She said you missed school two days in a row and asked if you were all right. I covered for you, said you were sick. But I don’t want to do that again. Where were you yesterday?”
“With Kimberly,” I said. “Just hanging out.”
Mom let her arms drop to her sides and she took a deep breath, as if she were pulling herself together. “Amanda, I know you have to make your own mistakes. But, I don’t want you doing anything that will hurt you in the long run.”
“It’s not like that,” I said. I thought quickly. “I just… well, Kimberly’s popular. And I like it here, so I want to fit in. So, when she asks me to hang out or to just talk or whatever- I do. I don’t want to say no to someone so popular. You know? I want her friends to like me too.”
Mom watched me through narrowed eyes, pausing for an agonizingly long time before saying, “Is one of these friends Jonathan? That cute boy you like?”
I blushed. “Yeah.”
“Has he been there when you’ve skipped? Yesterday and today?”
“Yes,” I confessed.
Mom took another deep breath and glanced away, licking her lips as she said, “I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: use protection, Amanda. Even if he says-”
“Mom!” I waved her off, my face and neck growing hot. “It’s not like that! At all! I’ve never even kissed Jonathan. We’re just friends, sort of. Well, I don’t even know if we’re even friends anymore but… we’re definitely not sleeping together.”
Still scowling, Mom nodded. “All right. Whatever the case, don’t let this happen again. No more skipping school. For any reason. Are we clear?”
“Yes, okay.”
Mom gave me another long look before saying, “I’ve never had to have this kind of conversation with you, and I don’t want to again.”
“Me either,” I quietly said.
Mom walked away, making her way up the stairs.
I heard her door close and then, the sound of her television.
Sure, I didn’t want to have that kind of conversation again, but it would have been nice to have a conversation.
I stared up at the stairs, wishing she’d cared enough to ask me more about what happened with Jonathan and why we weren’t friends anymore.
It would’ve been helpful to have her opinion on how to win him back, even if I had to change some of the details of my story- like leaving out the part where he found out about my real name.
In any case, Mom didn’t care enough to ask.
Tears sprang into my eyes and I turned to the freezer, opened it, and made myself another ice cream cone.
Chapter Seventeen
Kimberly offered to pick me up for school, but I didn’t want to risk another ‘kidnapped by Kimberly’ stint, so I told Kimberly I’d ride the bus.
Jonathan wasn’t on the bus- no surprise there.
I was sure he’d spent all of yesterday afternoon ‘making up’ with Jen.
That thought made me want to puke.
So, I wasn’t exactly in the best of moods when I walked into Sunnyville High that morning. I was, however, determined to put certain things right.
I cared about Farrah Duncan, and I had no intention of dropping the case Kimberly and I had started. But I also cared about Mom, and I had no intention of slipping up so badly that I’d put my mom on my principal’s - and eventually on Social Services’- radar.
So, as soon as I stepped foot into Sunnyville High’s corridor, I made my way towards Principal Jackson’s office, determined to prove that I was a responsible student from a responsible family.
The Principal’s secretary led me into Ms. Jackson’s office and she was behind her desk typing something on her computer. When she saw me, she smiled brightly.
“Hi, Libby! It’s nice to see you, dear. How are things?”
I smiled in return, remembering how much I liked Ms. Jackson. She was, actually, one of the friendliest Principal’s I’d ever had. And that was saying a lot, considering that I’d had over a dozen since I’d started school.
“I’m feeling a lot better, thanks,” I said as I made myself comfortable in the seat across from her desk. “It was nice of you to call my mom and check on me. But I wanted to let you know I’m not going to miss any more days of school.”
Ms. Jackson tilted her head and blinked back at me, a slight frown forming on her brow.
She seemed confused.
I cleared my throat. “I mean, I, um… I don’t mean to sound unappreciative or defensive or anything…” I took a deep breath and decided to stop talking before I dug myself into an even deeper hole.
Ms. Jackson chuckled, but the look of confusion didn’t leave her expression as she slowly said, “No, you’re fine, Libby. I’m just a little lost… you said, I called your house? When was this?”
“Yesterday,” I squeaked. “I think…”
“Dear, I didn’t call your house,” Ms. Jackson said. “And I’m ashamed to say I had no idea you were ill. Are you sure you feel completely better?”
Now it was my turn to be confused.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “I do. I’m sorry. I just thought …well, maybe it was one of my teachers who called. I just thought it was you. Sorry.”
Though I said differently, I now had a strong feeling that no one from my school had called our house yesterday.
Ms. Jackson said a few more things and I smiled politely, but all the while I was trying to figure out why my mom lied to me.
***
After school, Kimberly let me ride with her to Red’s Security. A few hours earlier, she’d texted me, Jen, Lindsey, and Jonathan asking if we could meet there and discuss our options.
I guess she’d realized that even after yesterday’s three hour long discussion, we still hadn’t agreed on a plan of action.
As we pulled up to Red’s, Kimberly glanced at me and asked, “Are you okay?”
I nodded and offered her a smile.
She returned it, but her eyes were full of something near pity, like I was a kicked puppy and she wasn’t sure if she should pet me or just give me space.
I hoped she’d give me space.
Between my mother lying to me, me lying to Jonathan, and Jonathan hating me- I just wanted to close my eyes and avoid everyone. Not talk.
We hopped out of the Range Rover and strode into Red’s Security, Jonathan was manning the front desk and he looked up as we walked in.
“Hi,” Kimberly said, a little too brightly.
“Hey,” Jonathan said, a little too listlessly. He pointed towards the back of the store. “Jen and Lindsey are in the break room. I’ll be there in a sec.”
I avoided looking at him as Kimberly and I made our way to the break room.
“You’re such a motor mouth today,” Kimberly quietly said as we turned a corner into Red’s back hallway and approached the crappy little room. “You really should try and stop talking, at some point.”
I forced a grin. “That’s me. The motor mouth.”
She gave my shoulder a gentle pat and we walked into the break room.
Jen was standing, staring at the vending machine, a plastic baggie of baby carrots and halved celery sticks in one hand, and a half-eaten baby carrot in the other hand.
Lindsey was seated, her eyes glued to her phone.
Both girls looked up as we walked in.
“Hey, y’all,” Kimberly said.
“Hey,” Lindsey and Jen said in unison.
I waved silently and took a seat beside Lindsey, she offered me a smile, which I returned.
While Kimberly took a seat on my other side, Jen crunched loudly on her carrots and I glanced at her. She was eyeing one of the vending machines Snicker’s bars.
I cleared my throat and said, “I have a couple of dollars, if you want anything from the, uh, the machine thing.”
I know. I’m a regular teenage-Shakespeare.
“No, thanks. I’m just looking,” Jen said, without turning to me.
Lindsey put her phone in her pocket and sighed, suddenly turning her attention to me and Kimberly, “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. I feel like I jumped into a CW show.”
“Do what?” Jen asked, sliding into an empty chair on Lindsey’s other side. “We didn’t decide on anything yet, did we?”
“No,” Kimberly said. She arched an eyebrow and looked at each of us as she added, “But we’re doing something.”
“And remind me why you don’t like Jonathan’s idea about hiring a private investigator,” Lindsey said with a frown.
“Because every P.I. in the vicinity is a former cop with ties to the county Sheriff’s Office, and the guy who kidnapped Farrah is a former deputy. Those guys protect their own. They’re not going to help us,” Kimberly said.
Jen chuckled dryly. “That’s such a macho thing. Guys always stick together, especially when one of them’s done something wrong to a girl.”
We all turned to look at her and I wondered if everyone was wondering the same thing I was. Had Jen been hurt by a guy?
“Tell me about it,
” Kimberly mumbled, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. I glanced at my friend, remembering what she’d told me about her Uncle and her dad. And I realized that I was wondering the wrong thing, my question should have been: is there any woman who hasn’t been hurt by a guy?
At that moment, Jonathan walked into the room.
“Sorry. I had to do some paperwork for a customer who called in,” he said as he rushed towards the empty chair between Kimberly and Jen. He sat down and looked at us expectantly, “What did I miss?”
“We were just talking about how most of your species are douchebag liars,” Lindsey said with a sweet smile.
Everyone chuckled and I tried to smile and kind of failed.
“That may be true,” Jonathan said, his eyes downcast. “But I know a few women who lie too.”
I glanced down at the table and swallowed, hard.
What I wanted to do was get up, excuse myself to the bathroom, and splash water on my face …or better yet, excuse myself and walk out of Red’s and keep walking until I got home.
But I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, especially not in front of Jen after her accusation about me and Jonathan. So, I sat completely still and pretended Jonathan’s dig hadn’t been directed at me.
“Yeah,” Kimberly said with a nod. “Most people suck. But we don’t. That’s why we’re not going to sit by and let some basic butt plug kidnap Farrah Duncan. The police might not have the courage to do anything, but we do.”
“So,” Lindsey slowly said, elongating the word. “What exactly are we doing?”
Kimberly pulled five folded up sheets of paper out of her pocket and handed one to each of us. They were neatly typed plans. At the top of the paper were the words “Operation: Rescue F.D.” Below this were five bullet points and brief explanations underneath each.
I read the paper to myself, incredibly impressed.
Maybe one day I’d tell Kimberly about my plans to work for the CIA, and maybe, if she was this interested in rescuing people- she could apply with me.
“Wow, Kim,” Jen said with a loud laugh that brought me out of my thoughts. “I didn’t realize you were Oliver Queen.”
“Put her here, that’s my show,” Lindsey said, lifting a hand.
