“ . . . Britney Carver!”
A ripple ran through the girls, and then lots of cheering and clapping and Britney squealed and stood and made a little bow.
Celia did not cheer, and she did not clap. Her entire face flushed with color as she gazed at her alleged best friend with cold-blooded murder in her wide, rabid eyes. I could imagine it as a cartoon—Celia’s teeth turning into fangs and steam blowing out her ears as she grabbed Britney around the neck and throttled her until Britney’s eyes popped out of her head.
When Coach Privett concluded the meeting and the cheerleaders dispersed, Celia still stood there, hands balled at her sides, jaw clenched. Her eyes made a quick sweep of the gym and saw me watching her. I looked down at my book. She turned and stomped across the gym and stood underneath the scoreboard.
Was it possible for someone to act the way she did because that was just the way she was? Or was there always a reason? I’d like to think, if someone saw me acting strangely, they wouldn’t assume it was because I was a bad person. Or they’d at least ask if something was wrong before they made the decision.
“Boss, are we done here?” Art asked.
Miles, who had fallen asleep, jolted awake and mumbled something about going home. We gathered up our bags and headed to the exit. I was the last one out, and right before the doors closed, the yelling started.
But it wasn’t Celia’s voice.
I jerked around in surprise and stuck my head back into the gym. Standing under the scoreboard with Celia, her back to me, was a woman in a sharp business suit, her blond hair waving down to the middle of her back. I glanced over my shoulder; Miles and the others were still walking, too far away to have heard.
Celia’s head was down, both hands up by her ears, like she was ready to block out everything around her.
“I thought it would be okay . . . ,” she said. “I thought . . .”
“That you had the situation under control?” The woman’s voice was sickly sweet with an undercurrent of poisonous. I had heard that voice before, at the volleyball game on the first day of school.
“I did,” Celia whined. “I don’t know why . . . I knew they were going to pick me . . .”
“But they didn’t. You want to explain that?”
“I don’t know!” Celia fisted one hand in her hair. “I did everything exactly like you told me! I did it all right!”
“Apparently not,” said the woman. “You wasted your time with that stunt you pulled at the bonfire. You’ve undermined yourself, and you’re ruining my plans. Where do you expect to go now?”
“I don’t even like cheerleading. And Britney’s my friend—”
“Your friend? You call that bitch your friend? You need to do something about her, Celia. You need to show her that she doesn’t deserve that position.”
Celia whimpered something unintelligible.
“And then you go around thinking a boy will make this all better,” the woman snapped. Blood-red fingernails tapped against her arm. “You’ve known him for five years and he’s hardly looked at you. He threatened to shave your eyebrows off! He’s an obstacle, Celia! One you need to remove.”
“No, he’s not!”
“I’m your mother—I know these things!”
Her mother?
Celia was crying now. She turned away from her mother to wipe her eyes, smudging her ugly mascara tears. Something slipped out of her hand and clattered to the floor, making her jump. Her cell phone.
When she bent down to get it, she saw me. Her eyes opened wide.
I ran from the gym as fast as I could.
Do you ever think about lobsters?
Very doubtful
I think about lobsters all the time. You knew that already; I’ve told you the stories.
Yes
Do you think the lobsters in the tank try to help the other lobsters? Is that why they pile up like that? Or is it just for company, because they know they’re all doomed?
Better not tell you now
Either way, it must be nice to have someone.
Chapter Twenty
I told Tucker about Celia and her mother the next day, when we both had to work the late shift at Finnegan’s.
“And her mom just showed up at school?” Tucker said. “I didn’t think they got along.”
I’d been considering the idea that the encounter had been some kind of hallucination, but there was confirmation— even Tucker knew about Celia’s mom.
“Well they sure didn’t sound happy to see each other. I think her mom must have been watching,” I said. “She was there right after we walked out. But when Celia saw me, I swore she was going to fly across the gym and strangle me to death.”
Tucker shook his head. “Add it to Celia’s list of Weird Conversations.”