I froze, there in my Petree kitchen, looking at the stainless-steel fridge. “Mom,” I said slowly. “I don’t think I want to do that.”
“Well, how can you know? ” she asked, her voice rising. “It’s only the beginning of your junior year.”
“Then why are you sending me these books?”
“Because I wanted to help you!” She sniffled. “And I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to come back here and live with me and Peter and the kids.”
“I’m not making my college decision based on what you want, Mom,” I said slowly.
“Of course not!” she said. Now she was crying. “When do you ever care what I want?”
In the end, I stuck the books under my bed and tried to forget about the entire thing. When the actual time came to think about school, though, I dug them back out and scanned the tips, which were actually pretty helpful. In the end, I did apply to Defriese, although not early admission, and only as a peace offering. I had no intention of going, unless I got in nowhere else. The last resort of last resorts.
“Mom,” I said now as I peered down the row of nearby lockers, finally locating number 1899. “I really need to get ready for first period.”
“It’s only been two minutes.”
I didn’t say anything. What can you say to that?
“What I mean,” she said, quickly regrouping, “is that I haven’t even had a chance to talk to you about the beach. That’s the whole reason I called. I have really exciting news!”
“What?”
She sighed. Yet again, I was not saying my lines with enough punch. “Well,” she began, ignoring my lack of enthusiasm, “we just got word that the remodel has passed all its inspections. The decorator has the painters in as we speak. And you know what that means.”
I waited.
“You can finally come down with us!” Clearly, this was the Big Finish. “I mean, I know how much you love the beach, and we have such great memories of going there together. I can’t believe Peter and I have had this house for two years and you’ve never even seen it! We’re planning to go check it out next weekend, and then try to get down as often as we can. Now, I’ve been looking at your school calendar, and I noticed—”
“Mom,” I said, cutting her off mid-breath. “I really have to go to class.”
Silence. Then, “Fine. But will you promise to call me later? I really want to talk to you about this.”
No, I thought. Out loud I said, “I’ll do my best. I’ve got to go now.”
“I love you!” she said, scrambling to get in these last three words while she could. “It’s going to be fabulous! Just like—”
Click.
I reached up, grabbing the handle of my locker too hard and yanking it. It flew open with a blur of pink, barely missing clocking me in the face. When I grabbed the door, steadying it, I saw there was a mirror still attached inside, bright raspberry colored and decorated with pink feathers. The word SEXXY was written across the bottom of the frame. I was staring at my face in it, speechless, when Riley popped up behind me.
“Already decorating?” she said, eyeing the feathers.
“It’s not mine,” I told her, lacking the energy after my mother to explain further.
“Sure it isn’t.” She smiled, her face friendly as I opened my bag, stowing a couple of textbooks on one of the empty shelves. “Hey, I need to ask you something.”
I had to admit I was surprised. We’d met just twice, and the second time only because of Heather’s intervention, or act of charity, whatever you wanted to call it. I shut the locker, feathers blurring past again, and started walking toward my homeroom. “Okay.”
Riley tucked a piece of hair behind her ear—I noticed her tattoo again, that simple circle—then fell into step beside me. The halls were still packed with people and noise, all that energy of a day that hasn’t quite started yet.
“It’s about Dave,” Riley said as we sidestepped two girls carrying guitar cases. “Was he on the bus this morning?”
“The bus?”
“To school,” she said. “You guys take the same one, right?”
“I take the city bus,” I told her.
“Oh, right. Okay.”
This seemed like it should be the end of our conversation: question asked, question answered. But she still kept walking with me, even though my Spanish class was the only one on the dead-end hallway we were on. “I did see him, though. His mom brought over some brownies.”
“Oh, boy.” She raised her eyebrows. “Let me guess: no nuts, no gluten, no sugar, and no taste.”
“Pretty much,” I replied. “How’d you know?”
She shrugged. “Experience. Dave’s house is not the place you want to ooking for a snack. Unless you’ve got a real yen for wheat germ and veggie jerky.”
“Veggie jerky?”
“Dried vegetables,” she explained.
I raised my eyebrows.
“Yep. It tastes just like it sounds.”
“Poor Dave,” I said.
“I think that’s why he likes working at Frazier Bakery so much,” she told me as a guy wearing headphones bumped me from the side. “The sugar and chemicals abound there, and he’s got a lifetime of making up to do.”