by E. J. Mara
I thought about the night Kimberly had asked me to help her set fire to her dad’s car lot. And then my thoughts moved to our Farrah Duncan case and the hidden camera we’d set up in her murderer’s home. I inadvertently glanced at my computer, thinking of the Red’s Security software Jonathan had given me.
Mom thought she’d given me her baggage. But the truth was that my new friendships in Sunnyville came with a lot more baggage.
That said, it was an extra weight I was willing to carry.
I wanted to stand beside my friends and fight for Farrah Duncan.
I looked up at mom and met her eyes. “I can’t think of a single reason to leave,” I said firmly.
Her tense expression melted and she smiled before surprising me with a sudden hug. “Thank you, Manda,” she whispered.
Mom’s hugs were infrequent and quick and this one was no different. She released me and exhaled, obviously relieved by my answer. I was relieved to have made her happy.
“So,” I said, clearing my throat. “You said Van loves you. But, how do you feel about him?”
Mom chuckled and looked down, her expression softening. “I have to admit, I’ve broken my own rule when it comes to that man…”
Her voice trailed off and I had my answer.
She’d fallen in love.
“Well, sometimes rules are meant to be broken,” I said.
Mom nodded. “That’s exactly right.”
“I’m really happy for you,” I said.
She smiled again, but clasped her hands together and sat up straighter as she said, “Thank you. But, all that said, this juncture in our lives means we’re going to have to change a few things.”
“Okay.”
“Ever since your father left us, I’ve trained you to live as a ghost,” Mom said. “To fly below the radar. But we can’t do that anymore. It won’t be enough.”
“Okay,” I slowly repeated.
She set her cool palm against my cheek and spoke gravely, “I need for you to be exceptional. Your behavior needs to be beyond perfect, your grades need to be outstanding, and you need to hang around with a good set of kids. Not with that, Kimberly girl. All right?”
I stared back at her.
I understood why I needed to be a decent citizen/student, but the part about Kimberly bugged me.
“Kimberly’s my best friend,” I said, thinking quickly. “And her dad’s well-known in town. People like him. So, hanging out with her won’t make me look bad.”
Mom’s face darkened and she looked away as she said, “Her father is a piece of trash and I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
Startled, I said, “How do you know that?”
She met my eyes. “I know a lot of things, about a lot of people. That’s why I’m good at what I do.” She pointed to the ceiling and said, “And that’s how we have this nice roof above our heads. Because I’m good at what I do. So, trust me when I say you should stay away from Kimberly and her family.”
“But just because her dad’s got issues, doesn’t mean Kimberly’s a bad person.” I pointed to myself. “I mean, look at me, I’m the spawn of an abusive loser who left his wife and child. Do you think I’m a bad person because of what my father did?”
Mom’s face fell. But only for a half a second. Most people probably wouldn’t even have noticed.
“Of course not,” she said, her tone calm and her face serene yet steady. “And Kimberly may not be a bad person either, but I need for you to trust me when I tell you stay away from that family. Understood?”
There was no way I was ditching Kimberly. She and Jonathan were the best friends I’d ever had.
“Fine. Okay,” I lied.
Mom patted my shoulder and then slid off my bed, standing to indicate that the conversation was over.
She kissed me on top of my head and quietly said, “I know you just lied to me. But I trust that you’re smart enough to eventually obey me. Good night, sugar plum.”
Before I could find my voice to reply, she left the room and closed my door behind her.
I stared at it, wondering how a mother-daughter conversation that started out so well, had managed to end so poorly.
***
On Sunday, I woke up to the smell of pancakes and sausage.
Wondering if I was still asleep and dreaming, I stared at my ceiling for a few minutes, the smells from downstairs wafting into my room and making my stomach growl.
After last afternoon’s Adventures-In-The-Homes-of-Murderers/Kidnappers episode, I’d lost my appetite and completely missed dinner.
But apparently, my appetite had returned.
Realizing I wasn’t dreaming and that either Van had slipped in while I was asleep and was now downstairs cooking breakfast or that an alien must have taken over my mother’s body and decided to use its new host to dabble in the art of breaking one’s fast, I slid out of bed and threw on a pair of shorts under my long t-shirt.
Yawning, I took the stairs two at a time and paused in stride at the last stair, watching my mom use a spatula to turn a pancake over on our griddle.
She was frowning, her face intense with concentration. I glanced at the plate beside the griddle, containing six perfectly-round and perfectly golden brown pancakes.
To her right, six sausage patties sizzled on the stove-top.
Not wanting to startle her, I slowly walked into the kitchen.
Without looking up, she said, “Morning, sugar plum.”
I should have known I couldn’t scare her, she always seemed to sense my presence, even without having to look up and actually see me. It was uncanny.
“Who are you,” I said, walking to the counter and leaning against it. “And what have you done with my mother?”
She smiled and glanced at me before removing yet another perfectly formed pancake from the griddle. I smelled a hint of a banana and cinnamon, which made my mouth water.
Banana and cinnamon pancakes used to be my favorite when I was little. Dad used to make them all the time.
“Van’s coming over in about fifteen minutes,” she said, returning her attention to the next to-be pancake as she drizzled batter onto the griddle. “I thought we could have breakfast together.”
“Okay,” I said, registering this.
I wondered if this was the way she wanted it to be from now on… breakfast with Van on the weekends. Or maybe even every day? Would we act like a family?
A twinge of joy blossomed somewhere near my chest, but I kept it at bay. Hope can be dangerous. It can be like the bait that tempts an unsuspecting fish, leading it to disappointment, which is basically the worst trap ever.
Careful not to feel too hopeful, I asked, “Do you need help?”
She smiled at me and said, “Sure, thanks for asking. Would you pour three glasses of OJ?”
“Okay.”
While I poured the juice and quietly thought of when and how I should bring up the subject of Kimberly and how she wasn’t a bad person, Mom interrupted my thoughts with a surprising, “If you don’t have any plans today, do you want to hang out with me and Van?”
I nearly dropped the glass of orange juice in my hand.
Turning to Mom, I watched her use a fork to check on the sausage, and I tried to figure out how to respond without sounding needy or overly-excited or just … stupid.
“Okay,” I finally said.
“Great.” She turned to me and grinned.
I smiled back, my heart doing a somersault.
I’d never spent time with Mom and one of her boyfriends. In fact, a Sunday with Mom home almost never happened.
“What are we going to do?” I asked, as I set each glass of juice at one of the three spots Mom had prepared at our breakfast nook.
“Just walk around the mall,” she said easily. “And then maybe catch a movie.”
I grinned. As basic as a mall-walk and the movies sounded, it also kind of sounded like heaven.
I guess, sometimes, basic is exactly what you need.
> ***
Two hours later, the three of us were standing in line at the movie theater inside of Sunnyville Mall. Van and I were debating the perfect movie snack. Mom seemed content to just listen and laugh at our argument.
“Two fully dressed hot dogs, one extra-large box of Swedish Fish, and a Coke,” Van said, his tone firm, “is absolutely the way to go. How can you go wrong with that?”
“If you think eating five-day-old hot dogs and then getting a nasty stomach virus is right, then I don’t know what to tell you,” I said with a shrug. I bit back a smile and pretended to be somber as I continued. “But if you want to actually enjoy watching a movie, you’re going to go with nachos and a pack of M&M’s. That’s just common sense.”
Van laughed. “For a rude Gen Z kid, sure. Because your generation doesn’t care about things like the common courtesy of not crunching loudly on nacho chips while everyone else in the theater is trying to watch a movie.” With this, Van imitated crunching noises and mimed eating nacho chips with a bored expression on his face.
Mom and I burst out laughing.
“They’re not that loud,” I protested, in between giggles.
“So, you’re saying you prefer soggy nachos?” he arched an eyebrow at me. “Those stale, plastic-like shards of what used to be corn chips that have been drenched in fake cheese? That’s better than a good old-fashioned American hot dog?”
“It’s better than getting botulism,” I retorted, grinning.
“I’m pretty sure you can get botulism from eating any of this junk,” Mom finally chimed in.
Van wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek.
She smiled shyly.
A twinge of joy blossomed in my heart and this time I wasn’t careful. I let myself feel it. I let myself watch them grin at each other, like two kids my age. And that’s exactly what they reminded me of- teenagers in love.
“Is our arguing bothering you?” he asked.
“Nah.” She leaned her head against Van’s shoulder and smiled at both of us as she lowered her voice and said, “But your food choices are. That’s why I brought this extra-large purse with me.”
I glanced down at her floral printed bag as she gave it a pat and continued, “I have kale chips, almonds, and raisins. Enough for all of us.”
Van and I exchanged a look.
“Uh, you know how much I adore you,” he slowly said. “But, do I have to eat that?”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “It’s either this or plain popcorn, no butter.”
“You’re so whipped,” I whispered.
He shrugged. “I can’t argue with that.”
“He’s not whipped,” Mom said, grinning up at him. “He’s just well taken care of. Right, honey?”
“Exactly,” Van said before kissing her on the lips.
Mom’s face went red and I couldn’t help but smile to myself.
“You know what?” I said, and they both looked at me expectantly. “Plain popcorn doesn’t sound too bad to me either.”
“That’s my girl,” Mom extended one of her arms, pulling me to her other side.
As the three of us stood in line, linked like a happy little family, a feeling of warmth enveloped me and my thoughts on life began to change.
I realized that even though life’s extreme up’s and down’s sometimes made the idea of love feel foreign, that didn’t mean it actually was. Maybe love wasn’t just some theoretical concept that only existed in fairy tales.
Maybe it was real. And maybe, for the first time in a very long time, it was something I could whole-heartedly believe in.
Chapter Twenty-Four
After a revitalizing Sunday with Mom and Van, I woke up to the sound of chirping birds and the smell of something baking in the kitchen.
Van had stayed the night and clearly, he was making Monday morning breakfast for us.
I smiled to myself, wondering if this was the way it would be from now on.
Would I wake up to the scent of breakfast every morning? And would I get to spend lazy Sundays with Mom and Van?
Would we be like a real family?
Unable to stop grinning, I chose my favorite blue dress and slipped into it as quickly as possible.
Grabbing my book bag, I ran downstairs to find Van and Mom kissing in front of a steaming tray of blueberry muffins that must have just been pulled out of the oven.
Van wore Mom’s apron and held a fork in one hand. The other was on her waist as they locked lips.
I cleared my throat and both of them jumped before pulling themselves apart and looking at me sheepishly.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Morning, Kiddo,” Van grinned as he straightened his clothes.
“Hi, Mand- uh, Libby,” Mom stammered, nearly giving away my real name.
“These look good,” I pointed to the blueberry muffins. “May I have one?”
“Sure,” Van said. “Just be careful, they’re hot.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” I said. “Did you guys touch them or something?”
Mom rolled her eyes at my cheesy attempt at humor. “Aren’t you late for your bus?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said using a spoon to get a muffin and wrap it in a thick paper towel. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone in a minute and you guys can keep kissing.”
Mom gave me a playful slap on the arm and I ducked out of the house.
To be honest, I hadn’t minded seeing them kiss. It was just a reminder of what I’d realized within the past twenty-four hours: life is terrible, unexpectedly awful things happen every minute of every day. But what makes life worth living, is love. It’s what saves us every time.
As I walked to the bus stop and thought this over, my mind skidded towards Kimberly.
Life had handed her a raw deal. She was born into a messed up family; a father who cared about her even less than my mom cared about me and a mother who seemed pretty useless as far as I was concerned. Top that with a pedophile for an Uncle and her life had been wrecked before she’d hit puberty.
If anyone deserved love, it was Kimberly.
As I planted myself at the bus stop and waited for my big, yellow ride, I made a decision.
Farrah Duncan was beyond saving, but Kimberly was not. So, I would make sure that Kimberly got the love she deserved. And I would do it today.
***
When I marched up to Bao Tran at lunch, I didn’t have a plan per se. But I had an idea. Taking a note from Mom’s rulebook, I figured I’d let the rest of my non-plan evolve organically.
In retrospect, I probably should have stuck to my normal way of doing things and taken a second to draw up an actual strategy. But, whatever.
Bao was sitting in the cafeteria at a small circular table with another quiet guy whose name I couldn’t remember. They weren’t saying much, just sitting beside each other and silently shoveling spoonfuls of rice and gravy into their mouths.
They both paused, mid-spoonful, as I approached, their eyes widening as they watched me in disbelief.
A few other kids in the cafeteria went silent, watching me walk up to them.
Only then did I realize just how invested everyone was in everyone else’s business.
Taking a steadying deep breath, I smiled at Bao and his friend. “Hey, guys,” I said, hoping I sounded cheerful but not fake.
I felt a little bit fake, even though this was all for a good cause.
“Uh, hey,” Bao said looking at me and then looking around at the other kids in the small cafeteria, all of them pretending not to notice us.
I sat across from him and his friend and opened my lunch bag.
His friend stared at me, his mouth hanging open.
“You’re eating lunch with us?” Bao asked, disbelief in his voice.
I nodded, only then realizing why everyone had been watching me.
Even though I’d been thrilled to be included in Kimberly’s circle of popular friends, it had never occurred to me that now I was one of them- I was
a popular kid.
Embarrassed by this sudden realization, heat flooded my cheeks and I laughed nervously before saying, “Is that okay? I know we have math together and I just, um… I’m a hundred percent past lost with the whole ‘Calculating Derivatives’ chapter. So, I was hoping I could pick up some tips from you before our next test?”
“Oh.” Bao nodded. “Sure. That’s fine. When do you want to meet? I know you probably have cheerleading practice. But, um, I’m available every day after five.”
I glanced at him, surprised.
He thought I was a cheerleader?
I guess hanging out with cheerleaders made people lump me in with them.
“I’m not a cheerleader,” I said with a chuckle. “Trust me, if they saw my moves, or maybe I should say my lack of moves, they’d kick me off the team. So, I’m free every day after five too.”
“Oh,” Bao said, taking a careful bite of his food. “I always see you with Kimberly and her friends. So, I thought you were on the team. Sorry.”
“That’s okay, I’ll take it as a compliment.” I smiled and unwrapped my homemade vegetarian burrito, which Van had made for me last night. “You know, speaking of Kimberly, she’s the one who told me I should go to you for tutoring. She said you’re the smartest guy she knows.”
Bao’s face turned red and he grinned.
His friend looked from me to Bao, still silent and nervous.
“Really?” Bao asked, his voice so quiet I could barely hear him.
He looked the way I felt when someone mentioned Jonathan. And that meant one thing- he liked Kimberly.
Excited, I dipped my burrito into the homemade chipotle sauce Van had concocted and said, “That’s not the only thing she said about you.”
I took the first bite and chewed while Bao slowly found the courage to look up at me.
“Really?” he softly asked, repeating himself.
I nodded. “She likes you. A lot. She said she wants to go out with you, but she’s too intimidated to ask you.”
Bao’s eyes widened and a hopeful glimmer made them shine with delight.
I grinned, proud of my matchmaking skills.
But then, he frowned. With this, he blinked quickly, his eyes not leaving mine as his expression darkened.
