“Same. I think we made our point.”
Jane runs down the hall and out the door, her braid swinging from side to side.
Kallie locks her arm through my elbow. “Let’s forget about this and get donuts. And most definitely discuss the real issue from that Prom theme meeting. Sean Mills was staring at you like it was a life drawing class.”
We exchange the after school drama for glazed donuts, Sean talk, Prom dress image viewing, and absolutely no more mentions of Todd.
****
At dinner I give my mom an abbreviated recap of my day and the meeting. I tell her how ridiculous Jane was but that Kallie and I seem to be cool again.
“That’s great, what a relief.” She sighs and leans over her grilled chicken. “Soooo … speaking of ‘being cool again’, do you owe your dad a phone call?”
“Why? It’s not like we’re in a fight.”
“Hon, your dad says you’ve been distant since the divorce was finalized and he said you haven’t returned his calls and he hasn’t talked to you in weeks.”
“Not on purpose. And funny you should mention it, I was thinking of calling him this month. Maybe even this week.”
“Don’t be cute. I’m sure you know, but the divorce wasn’t all his fault,” she says.
It’s been like half a year since the divorce was final and she’s talking to me about it now? “Yeah mom, I know. I’m sure there’s a reason why Dad didn’t feel like hanging around here all the time. Maybe all the yelling got on his nerves. Trust me, I get it.”
She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something but takes a drink of water instead.
“Like I said, I’m going to call him. Why’s he calling you about me anyway? I didn’t even know you guys still talk.”
“Of course we still talk,” she says. “He loves and cares about you like I do. He worries too. He wants to know what you’re up to, how you’re doing. And hey, if you’re not calling him,” she narrows her eyes, “then he’s going to have to call somebody to get that info.”
“Point taken. I’ll call him. Promise.”
She looks relieved and goes back to her chicken. As I choke down a mouthful of bland broccoli, I make a mental note to call Dad by Friday after school. Before my date with Sean.
FOURTEEN
Late Thursday morning I’m called from Biology to the office again. Second time in the past month. My heart and stomach do all their signature moves. Jumping, flipping, racing, and all to a horrible tune of “what-if this or what-if that?” Maybe Maisey wants back in Prom Court. Or maybe Mom called Ms. Selinski about me not calling Dad. Convinced Mom ratted me out on my lingering divorce issues, I take longer, faster strides down the hall. Who does she think she is, anyway? Either she’s sweeping shit under the rug or making mountains out of it. I veer to the wall, lean against it and pull my phone out of my bag to text her.
Really Mom?! I said I would call—FOR SURE TMRW!
Send.
As soon as I step into the office, I’m confused. My mom is standing in front of the main desk, still dressed in her work clothes.
“Mom. What’s going on? Is everything okay?” I start to feel jittery.
“I don’t think so.” She glances down to her gray leather pumps. “Not really.”
I get a sick stab in my gut and bubbles of fear burst upward. I gasp. “Is it Dad? Is he okay—is everything okay with Dad? He’s okay, right?”
She hugs my shoulder with her arm. “Honey, calm down.”
“You two can step back into Ms. Selinski’s office now,” says the school secretary, waving us toward the back of the office.
My body stiffens and refuses to move. “Mom. Tell me right now. What’s going on?”
“I promise. Your dad’s fine. It’s … well, let’s just get in here and sit down.” Her tone is low, somber, and offers no reassurance.
As we settle into our chairs, Ms. Selinski shuffles papers beneath a strained smile as I run through every person I care about in my head. Then, I tick through each class and my grades. Not failing anything. Maybe Nord thought my Howl poem had too many fucks and was a cry for help. Actually, I doubt Nord would care about swearing in an assignment. It still might be Dad. I wish I’d called him this past weekend, like I’d originally sort of planned. My right knee bobs up and down in short, sharp jolts.
“Bree, hello?” My mom grips my shoulder. “Honey, relax. Listen.”
“Bree, are you okay?” asks Ms. Selinski.
“Yes,” I say evenly, “I’m okay. Just tell me why I’m here.”
“I’m so sorry to be delivering this news, but I wanted you to know that one of your classmates has passed away.”
I take a deep breath, press my hand on my knee and beg my heart to slow down. I hate this feeling. The speeding heartbeat and the blur that rushes in and out of my head and past my eyes. My breaths are too short. Just gotta breathe. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine … ten.
Ms. Selinksi runs her hand back and forth over her chin. “It was Maisey Morgan.”
“What?” I ask.