I Swear

10. KATHERINE

Krista Abernathy makes my skin crawl. ’Course, I’d never say that to her face or anything. Aunt Liza taught me early on that nice girls don’t let on when they don’t like somebody.

“It’s part of keeping your cards close to your chest,” she said. “If you can’t find something nice to say about somebody, you just smile and say, ‘Well, bless your heart.’”

It was hard to find something nice to say about Krista, in my opinion, so I generally just tried to say nothing to her at all. She was the first one I ever met—first one I ever laid eyes on at this sorry-ass school where I wound up junior year. She’s one of those white girls who will not eat: skin and bones, constantly smoking cigarettes, and has these bangs cut just a little too short in a line straight across her forehead. She claims they make her look like Bettie Page. Personally, I think they make her look like Porky Pig’s girlfriend from Looney Tunes.

Regardless, Macie thinks Krista looks cool and “retro.” “Krista is a hot hipster chick,” Macie says, giggling about her bright-red, cat’s-eye glasses. “She found those at this supercool vintage store over in Capitol Hill. I love it. She’s fierce.”

Maybe she is. Maybe “hip” just isn’t “pretty.”

I’m not sure what Macie Merrick saw in Krista. Jillian tells me Krista’s daddy dropped dead of a heart attack at the dinner table. Turned out the autopsy revealed he was on so much OxyContin that he’d blown a clot and had a stroke right there over a petite filet.

Krista generally looks bored and above it all and like she can’t wait to have another cigarette, but she sure lit up the first time she saw me. Walked right up to me at the registration for new students the week before school started last year.

“Hi,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Krista.”

“Katherine,” I said, taking her hand and using my “evening gown portion of our competition” smile. “It’s a pleasure.”

Before I realized what was happening, she pulled me in close and whispered, “Thank God you’re black. I was hoping we’d get some decent color this year.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, smile frozen in place.

“I’m on the Welcome Committee for the student council,” she said. “C’mon. Wait’ll Macie gets a load of you.”

And that was how it happened. Macie smiled with her mouth right away that night, but her eyes were holdin’ back a secret. Maybe two. She or Krista was always at my elbow that night, and Mama smiled like a possum eatin’ briars. “Look at you, Katherine. You’ve already made friends with the student council members. That’s just fantastic. Oh, sweetheart, I just knew that you’d make friends right away.”

I wanted to sass her. I wanted to say, “Mama, these girls are not my friends. These girls want to earn their race-relations badge.” But I held my tongue and thought about Aunt Liza. Don’t show your cards, Li’l K.

Macie showed me to the right table in the gymnasium, and Krista tagged along with me and Mama, who insisted I take the tour of the whole damn campus. Finally, I waved good-bye and walked toward my car. Mama had met me at the school after stopping by a regional Miss Teen USA preseason orientation to pick up entrance forms and meet some of the other local participants. As soon as it was final that we were moving, she’d called to make sure we were all squared away with contacts and residency requirements.

As I beeped the automatic locks on the silver BMW Daddy had gotten me for my sixteenth birthday, I heard a voice behind me.

“Wow. Is this your car?”

I jumped a little as I turned around and saw Macie standing with her arms crossed, leaning against a jet-black model of the same car I drove. I was quick to push my smile back up.

“Oh . . . hey, Macie,” I said. “Didn’t see you there.”

Macie had a funny look on her pretty face. “Didn’t expect you to drive something this . . .”

I let my smile go. “Nice?” I finished her sentence.

Macie just stared at me in silence—like she was sizing me up for a gown. Mama’s stylist friend Darius, who always helps me pick out my evening gowns and swimsuits, uses the same look when he’s peering at me, trying to imagine me in sequins or bugle beads or a sheer black organza.

After a moment, she cocked her chin to one side and smiled at me with just her mouth again. “Meet us at Marv’s,” she said.

“Us?” I asked. When she spoke she sounded almost weary. “Katherine,” she said, “won’t you please privilege me and several of my dearest friends with the honor of your presence this evening?”

She was making fun of me. At least I thought she was.

“Oh, Macie, that’s so sweet of you. I think I’m just a little tired from the move this week and—”

“Katherine.” Macie’s voice stopped me. “Do I have to spell this out for you? We’re the cool kids. You’re the new girl. This is your invite.”

“You don’t even know me,” I said.

“I know enough,” she said. “Four-point-oh grade point average at Lithonia High School; daughter of Daysun Fraisure, lead litigator for Clarence, River, and DeKalb; first runner-up Miss Atlanta Teen two years ago; winner Miss Georgia Teen last year.”

My eyes were wide, and I laughed a little in spite of myself. “But . . . how did you . . . ?”

“There’s an app for that,” she said, holding up her phone. “You’ve got quite a web presence, you know.”

I looked back at the school, then down at my watch.

“Come,” she said. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

When I looked up, she was smiling at me again—this time with her eyes.

• • •

Krista and Beth were both in the booth already when I arrived at Marv’s Diner with Macie.

“Here she is,” Krista said. “Beth, Katherine. Katherine, Beth.”

I shook Beth’s hand. She looked up at me, and then over at Macie, and back at me. “Oh. My. God,” she said quietly. “You’re, like, twelve feet tall.”

We all laughed. “No,” I said. “I’m just wearing heels.”

“What are you talking about?” Beth’s eyes were wide, and she was shaking her head back and forth. “I already hate you. You’re, like, twice as tall as me.”

“And you’re gorgeous and smart and poised and confident,” said Macie. “My God, Katherine, now I hate you too.” She held my gaze for a minute, then burst into laughter. Beth and Krista joined her. I stood there blinking, confused.

Macie saw my expression and smiled, wiping her eyes. “Let me explain,” she said. “I’m running for student council president this fall. I’ve been on the fence about my running mate. I decided tonight that you’re it.”

“Macie.” I shook my head. “I’m going to be real busy with a couple of pageants to prepare for comin’ right up. I have a real shot at Miss Teen USA this year, and I’m countin’ on that scholarship money, so—”

“So you should do it,” Krista said, interrupting me.

When I looked over at her, she was boring holes through those cat’s-eye glasses, and that’s the first time I felt it—the way she looked at me like I was a commodity, like I was the prize to be won. That was the first time she made my skin crawl.

Macie just smiled at me and patted the booth next to her. “Sit,” she chirped. “Chat.”

I gingerly slid into the booth next to Macie. The waiter came and took our orders. Krista got coffee, Beth asked for a salad, Macie ordered a Diet Coke with a lime.

“What are you having, Katherine?” she asked me.

When I hesitated, Krista cut in. “Second thoughts!” she said, then brayed like my granddaddy’s donkey Moonshine did that night the skunk got into the barn when I was a little girl.

“I’m fine with water.” I smiled at the waiter.

When he left, Macie turned to me. “Elections are two weeks away. Nominations are due by the end of the day on Monday. I’ve been class president since ninth grade. Jillian always runs as my VP, but this year, we can run for student council, and I don’t want to risk running with her against the seniors. I’ve decided to make a change.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because if I’m going to win, I need the minority vote,” she said.

My brow creased as I tried to put these pieces together. “And they’ll vote for juniors like you and me because . . .”

“Because you’ve got the right heritage,” Macie said.

Her words hit me like Mississippi humidity on a hot summer day. That was it. I was done here. I stood up. “Macie, I may be from the South, but I did not just bump off the turnip truck yesterday. Don’t know who you think you’re talkin’ to, but I am not about to be—”

“The most popular girl in school on the first day?” Macie wasn’t smiling. She arched an eyebrow, then took a deep breath and squeezed the lime into the Diet Coke the waiter set down on the table.

“Your call, Katherine,” she said. “I’m not a racist. I just know how this works. My dad is a state senator. I know all about campaigning and I know even more about winning.”

I stood there, unsure what my next move was.

“I know you’re deeply offended,” Macie said sharply, “which leaves only one question unanswered.”

“What’s that?” I asked, my smile frozen like the ice in Daddy’s bourbon.

“Why are you still standing here?”

Krista and Beth were watching Macie like she was the best TV show they’d ever seen. I had to admit she was pretty sly. But she was no match for Aunt Liza, and that’s who was on the playlist in my brain. Don’t you let some white gal take yo’ power, Li’l K. You jump right in there and wrassle that gator to the ground. Ain’t nobody else gonna do it for you.

I brushed a wisp of hair out of my lipstick and sat down again. “I want a recommendation from your father to Columbia, Harvard, and Stanford whether we win or lose,” I said.

“Atta girl,” Macie said. “Done.”

“And I won’t be makin’ any big speeches or stayin’ after school till all hours to make posters for the prom or whatever fool thing your student council wants done next.”

“Understood,” Macie said. “I just need you there smiling and waving whenever there are newsworthy events.”

“One more thing,” I said. “Who do you know in the pageant system around here?”

“I think we can help you with that, too,” Macie said slowly, and shot a look at Krista.

“No . . .” Krista looked delighted. “You wouldn’t,” she said. Beth looked down at her salad and pushed a tomato around.

Macie turned back to me with a grin so full of mischief that Aunt Liza woulda burst into spontaneous prayer over her right there on the spot. “There’s a girl in our class whose mom just so happens to be a former beauty queen herself. She’s in with every judge on the whole circuit, apparently,” explained Macie. She widened her eyes, and her tone became mockingly sincere. “And goodness, Katherine, her daughter could certainly use a friend.”

“What’s this girl’s name?” I asked.

“Leslie Gatlin.”

• • •

Leslie Gatlin’s memorial service must have been the longest thirty-five minutes of my entire life. It felt like ol’ Mister Time had just lain down in the road and started dragging himself backward with his lips.

The gym was packed with students and their families, and the choir sang “Amazing Grace” in four-part a cappella harmony. Leslie’s mama and daddy sat up in the front row, and the only time I saw them move was when Principal Jenkins introduced Macie Merrick as student body president. Macie walked up to the microphone slow as molasses, and under the giant screen that had Leslie’s senior picture projected onto it, Macie gave a version of the speech she had given to the student body. Only, this one was better.

The words were perfectly calculated for the reporters in the back of the room, who would be shooting eyewitness reports on location in the parking lot later. There were quotations and sound bites for days. There was a choked sob behind her voice. There was a single tear that dribbled down her perfectly powdered cheek on the last sentence, and when she stepped away from the mic, it was so silent that you could have heard the clouds scootin’ across the sun.

It was the easily the best performance Macie Merrick ever gave, and from where I sat on the raised bleachers, I could tell that she was pleased as punch.

When the service was finally over, Macie made a beeline for the side entrance around the edge of the receiving line where Leslie’s parents stood at the front shaking hands and sharing hugs with people they’d never met who were all just happy it wasn’t their kid who’d asphyxiated in the garage. Macie was headed out to the vans, and I knew we’d see her again on the six o’clock news. As I was considering this and walking toward the parking lot with Daddy, he stopped and grabbed the hand of a tall, silver-haired man in a well-cut suit. He was younger than his hair color made him seem, maybe forty, and handsome. He wore glasses that had no rims, and the lenses sort of disappeared over his eyes, which were so blue that they almost hollered at you to look at them.

“Kellan Dirkson,” Daddy bellowed in his big litigator baritone. “Didn’t know you had a high school student at home.”

“I don’t, Daysun.” Kellan smiled. “I’m here working. You remember my associate counsel Lauren Wolinsky? And this is a new addition to the firm, Doug Skovgaard.”

“Pleasure to see you, Lauren, and to meet you, Doug.” Daddy shook their hands, chuckling. “Working a memorial? What do those ambulance chasers at Latham have you up to now?” Daddy’s laughter always sounds like a song.

Mr. Dirkson smiled sadly. “It’s a terrible thing, really. We’ve been retained by the Gatlins to pursue a civil suit for wrongful death.”

Daddy’s smile fell. “Do they have a case?” he asked quietly.

Kellan Dirkson bit his lower lip and raised his eyebrows as he nodded, then he dropped his gaze and his voice. “Daysun, if half the things this poor girl’s mother says are true, it may wind up being a criminal investigation. Bullying is big news lately. You’ve got half the state legislatures in the country pushing for tougher laws, and our DA is itching to get involved.”

Aunt Liza used to tell me there are moments when you know that, because of what just happened, your life will never be the same again. “It’s like things take a hard left at Albuquerque,” she’d say. “And you realize all a sudden that you’re headed to Mexico whether you like it or not.”

I don’t remember what else Kellan Dirkson and Daddy talked about. Sometimes I lay awake and wonder if there was anything else on earth I could have done at that moment besides pull out my phone and text Beth.

Where are you?