“Look, Victoria,” he said, showing me the calendar like a cat dropping off a dead bird to its master. “I got you this.”
Owen snorted. I closed my eyes and counted to three. Then I took the calendar from Adam. On it, Paisley Wheelwright, Cassidy Hyde, and the rest of the Oilerette elite posed in bikinis and high heels with Crest Whitestrip smiles plastered on and glittery pom-poms clutched in hand. “Thank you, Adam,” I said. “That’s, um, that’s very sweet.”
He beamed. I swung my backpack around and stuffed the calendar inside as we ushered Adam into the administration office.
“Are you seriously going to keep that?” Owen asked close to my ear.
“What am I supposed to do, dump it in the trash in front of his face?”
The glass door swung shut behind us. “It’s autographed. If I were you, I’d burn it.”
The administration office had orange carpeting. I imagined it was meant to tie in with the school colors. It didn’t. It was the color of Cheez Whiz.
“Shut up,” I said, noticing that Mrs. Van Lullen was peering over her glasses at us. “We’re on.”
I squared my shoulders and strode up to the desk, wishing that I’d chosen something more presentable than a loose-fitting baseball tee. “Hi, Mrs. Van Lullen. I wanted to introduce you to a new student. This is Adam Smith. I believe his mother e-mailed you yesterday for the paperwork?”
Mrs. Van Lullen painted her lips into the shape of a heart and favored overstretched cardigans that never failed to clash miserably with the spray-on cheese decor.
“Nice of you two to join us today, Ms. Frankenstein,” she greeted me in return. “May I see your guardian or doctor’s notes for yesterday’s absence?”
I winced. It figured that an otherwise perfect attendance record would be the thing to come back and bite us. “Um…” I made a show of patting down my pockets.
She waited until I finished acting. “I see,” she said, jotting something down in a notepad with quick, staccato handwriting. “Adam, you said?” She didn’t look up. Not right away.
I felt Owen prod Adam forward. He stood so still I might have sworn he was a mannequin. I nodded at him and he twitched to life as though remembering his lines. “I am Adam Smith. I come from Elgin, Illinois. I am sixteen years old. I am a junior. Victoria is my family friend. I am staying with her while my parents wrap up our move to the Lone Star State. Please, I would like to enroll in Hollow Pines High School.”
Mental head-thunk. Owen sucked in his breath. Mrs. Van Lullen leveled her chin and stared at us. She was allergic to shenanigans, as she called them, unless said shenanigans came from the right sources, and those were, namely, the Billys and the Oilerettes. We were neither of those, and the wild knocking of my heart threatened to give us all away.
“Elgin,” she said, only she drew the word out so long she could have said it twice. She crossed her arms over an egg yolk cardigan and pursed her lips. “You’re awfully big, Adam. Did you play football where you’re from?”
He looked back to Mrs. Van Lullen, holding her eye contact with the directness of a sociopath, and said, “I don’t think so.”
She frowned and slid the folder from the desk to examine. “You don’t think so? It’s hardly a trick question.”
I glanced nervously between Adam and Mrs. Van Lullen and burst into spontaneous fake laughter. I slapped my knee. “Oh, Adam.” I hiked my thumb in his direction. I was a terrible actress. Owen physically distanced himself from me like I was having a psychotic break, though perhaps that wasn’t so far off. “This one…” I stuck with my nervous chuckle. “He’s always such a kidder. You’ll see.” My laughter died under the hard stare of the administrator. “Er, no, he’s never played football.” I tugged at the hem of my T-shirt. “Adam here is a pacifist.” He smiled in return.
“I don’t like kids trying to be fresh with me,” she said.
I cleared my throat. “He’s not being fresh,” I added. “On the contrary, he’s downright stale, I think.”
She slid her glasses down her nose and held out a printed sheet of paper. “It’s too bad. We’re always looking for good ballplayers around here.” She flipped to the next page. “I tried your mother’s line yesterday.” She had returned to all business. “She didn’t answer.”
I swallowed. “I’ve known the Smiths for a long time, Mrs. Van Lullen. They’re good people.”
“That may be, but we need parental consent to enroll in the public school system.”
“And you have it.” I reached over the desk and pointed to the signature at the bottom of the page.
She gave a small huff and picked up the phone. “I’m going to try her again.” She referenced the paperwork to dial the number for the fictitious Ms. Smith.
As soon as she finished dialing, a buzzing sound came from Owen’s pocket. We froze. Mrs. Van Lullen cradled the receiver against her ear. The phone kept buzzing at intervals.
“What is that sound?” she whispered, then shook her head and turned away.
My eyes bugged at Owen. Silence it, I mouthed. He fumbled in his pocket.