Authors: Jeanette Battista
She was only a couple of entries into Lorelei’s senior year when the tone and content of her mother’s writing changed:
He brought a girl to lunch! Her name’s Saundra—a new student who moved from a town even smaller than this one. I don’t like her, or the way she hangs all over him. She actually made him get up and leave lunch early. Deacon and I finished eating by ourselves. I know D was bothered by his behavior, but he tried to hide it. I’m so mad, I could kill him.
Devon raised her eyebrows. Yeah, that wasn’t psycho jealous at all. Her mother didn’t sound at all rational about Jackson getting a girlfriend. She took a sip of her generic soda and thought about her mother’s words. Obviously Lorelei had it bad for Jackson, but he didn’t feel the same way about her. Where was her dad in all of this? Her mother gave him only the barest of mentions, and those only in conjunction with the three of them doing something together. How did they ever wind up getting married?
She read on, her eyes scanning the pages quickly. Jackson was absent more and more, leaving Lorelei and Deacon alone. There were a few more diatribes about Saundra and Jackson and their relationship, but now Lorelei seemed focused on Deacon. Devon chewed on her lip. So had her dad been the second choice, the man she picked because she couldn’t have Jackson? Or had Lorelei come to love him once Jackson was out of the picture and no longer there to blind her?
Devon came to the last entry:
Deacon asked me to marry him today. Must tell Jackson.
There were several blank lines, followed by a two word sentence.
It’s OVER.
Devon flipped through the rest of the book, but there was nothing else written. There was still about a quarter of the journal pages left, but Lorelei had stopped writing in it after that final entry. What was over? And why did Lorelei have to tell Jackson about the proposal?
She looked at the photograph that she had been using as a bookmark again. There was her mother and Jackson, their heads close together. But in the bright sunlight Devon caught something in the photo that she hadn’t seen in the lamplight of her bedroom the night before. Far in the background was someone all in black—a woman. Devon felt her heart speed up. It couldn’t be…
She was jolted out of her thoughts by a ball of something slimy and gross smacking into her chest. Grease spattered the blank pages of the journal, and Devon’s face and clothes. She jumped up and a ball of aluminum foil containing what was someone’s cafeteria lunch hit the ground. A giant grease stain decorated the middle of Devon’s jacket.
Devon looked up to see Skylar and a few of her cheerleader minions staring at her with evil little grins on their faces. Devon shoved the journal back in her bag and grabbed what napkins she had, trying to wipe off the worst of it.
“Sorry,” Skylar simpered, clearly not sorry at all. “I was aiming for the trash.”
The girls all burst out laughing and walked away. Devon watched them go, going alternately hot and cold. She wanted to chase after them and pound some sense into Skylar, but that really wasn’t going to help matters. Instead, she gathered up her things and went to the closest bathroom to try to clean herself up.
*****
“What happened to you?” Gil asked when she slid into her seat next to him in English class.
“Skylar Preston.” Devon took off her jacket and bundled it up in a heap at her feet.
“What is that stuff?” He looked critically at her jacket, as if trying to psychically divine what the stain was.
“Taco grease. She threw an aluminum foil ball of it at me while I was reading at lunch.” She pulled her notebook and pen out of her bag, settling in to take notes.
“Be-yotch!” he hissed, disbelieving. “Did she apologize?”
“That’s making the assumption that she didn’t do it on purpose.” Devon cut her eyes at him. “I’d just really like to forget about it, okay?” She especially didn’t want to remember the barbed insult that the cheerleader had hurled at her.
“Fine.” Gil’s eyes bored into hers. “Let’s talk about Brock and your diner rendezvous.”
Devon groaned, dropping her head on her arms. “You do not QUIT, do you know that?”
“It’s one of my finer qualities. And you’re avoiding.” He wagged a finger at her.
“I am not avoiding because there is nothing to avoid. We just both happened to be in the parking lot at the same time. No big deal.” The last thing she needed was rumors flying about her and Brock Cutler. That might send Skylar right over the edge. Although the look on her face might be worth it…
“Are you trying to tell me that if Mr. Cutler was interested in going on a date with you, that you would turn him down? You must have ovaries of steel.” He leaned forward. “Come on, Dev. You’ve liked him since sophomore year!”
She put her head next to his. “Liked, Gil. As in past tense. He’s just being friendly because we’ve had to work together when I’m in the records room.”
“Looks more than friendly to me,” he said, his voice knowing.
“You’re impossible.” She pulled back as Mr. Harris walked into the room. “And don’t you go starting any rumors,” she warned Gil as she opened her notebook to a clean page.
“You are just no fun,” Gil pouted before turning around to face front. “None. At. All.”
Devon wasn’t in the mood to do more research in the records room. The last person she wanted to see was Brock, especially since she smelled of taco stink and depression. All she really wanted to do was go to Gammy’s, shower about fifteen times, and then pull the covers over her head and forget that diaries, scholarships, and high school ever existed. Unfortunately, there was still too much for her to do, so unless she wanted to stay on the mountain forever hiding from one Skylar Preston, she was going to have to drag her butt to the archives.
But she didn’t have to be happy about it.
She signed in at the front desk and walked down the hallway until she came to the records room. Dumping her stuff off at the computer, Devon stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the archive basement.
“Brock?” she called. It was a Tuesday. He should have been working. She waited a few moments, then shrugged. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well and had called in sick. Or maybe he had the day off. Either way, it wasn’t any of her business.
She settled herself behind the computer, pulling file folders out of her bag. She also got out her small notepad; it had all of the possible names she still had to check. She entered the names into the search screen, notating where the record was likely located on her notepad. Only one name was still in the filing cabinets in this room. The rest were in the archives below.
Devon first pulled the files from the cabinets. Once she had those, she took her list and climbed down the stairs. The lights weren’t on in the basement room, but the illumination coming from the top of the stairs helped her find the light switch. She flipped it up and the old fluorescent lights flickered to life with a low buzzing sound.
She stopped at the first rack. There didn’t appear to be a layout or map anywhere in the room that she could see, so she had no idea how the boxes holding the old files were laid out. Each box seemed to be labeled, but to her eyes, there looked to be no rhyme or reason to how they were shelved. She began a methodical search, aisle by aisle to try and locate the ones she needed.
Heavy steps pounded down the stairs. Devon stuck her head out into the main aisle and looked at the doorway. “Brock?”
He came in, sweaty, disheveled, and out of breath. “Yeah, hey. Just give me a minute and I’ll help you.” He began to shuck off his jacket and backpack.
Devon left the stacks, wondering what had caused him to run. It surely wouldn’t have been a big deal if he were a few minutes late; Mrs. Welbourne seemed to adore him, so she doubted he’d be in any trouble. “Don’t worry about it. Catch your breath.”
He threw her a welcome smile. She felt her breath catch in her throat and reminded herself of what she had told Gil in English class. Just because his smile made her stomach do funny backflips didn’t mean she still harbored any feelings for him. She watched as he put his stuff away neatly.
Then he turned, his nose twitching. “Does it smell like Taco Bell in here to you?”
Devon blushed and looked away. “Um, yeah. That would be me. I had a little altercation with some taco grease today.” She gestured at the splotch that had soaked into her shirt through her jacket.
“It looks like the taco won.” He grinned.
She found herself grinning too. “Not so much the taco as Skylar and her friends,” she answered, smirking at him. She found Skylar’s comment didn’t bother her if she saw the funny side of things.
Brock, however, lost his smile. He abruptly changed the subject, holding out his hand for her notepad. “What are you looking for?
Well, that certainly killed the mood. Who would have thought Skylar’s name could be used as a prophylactic? She’d have to remember to pass that along to her the next time the cheerleader lobbed a big greasy ball of taco meat at Devon’s head.
“I’m kind of lost down here,” she said as she followed him into the stacks. “There’s not a map or anything that I could find so I was just going up and down the aisles.”
“There’s a layout, but I don’t think it makes sense to anyone but the person who set it up. And I think he died like ten years ago.” He led her unerringly down an aisle off to the right of the main stacks. He walked two shelving units in and then plucked a box from the shelf second from the top.
“That’s helpful,” she said, taking the box he passed her. When he didn’t answer, Devon put the box on the floor and asked,” Is everything okay? You seem a little…distracted.”
Devon was expecting him to tell her to mind her own business, but he just dropped down to the ground. He leaned his back against the boxes stacked up on the shelves and rested his forearms on his raised knees. “Can I talk to you?”
I thought that was what we were doing?
But she didn’t say it aloud. “Sure. I won’t tell anybody.”
He ran a hand through his brown hair. The blonde highlights glinted briefly in the fluorescent lights. Finally Brock said, “It’s my parents.”
Devon took a seat on the floor across from him, mimicking his slumped stance against the boxes. “Go ahead,” she waved him on.
“I don’t even know where to begin…” he said, then stopped. He took a breath and started over. “Okay. My parents both have these ideas of what’s best for me, you know? But they’ve never actually asked me if I want any of it. It wasn’t so bad in middle school or even a year or two ago. But now…”
“We’re going to college,” Devon finished, having an idea of where this was going.
He rubbed his neck. “Yeah. We’re going to college. And now all they do is talk at me about it. Mom wants me to go one place, Dad wants me to go to his old school. Mom wants me in pre-med, Dad wants me in pre-law. But they never ask what I want.”
Devon twined her fingers together to keep her hands still. “What is it that you want?”
His laugh held bitterness. “That’s the thing! I have no idea. Ever since I was a little kid, they’ve always told me what to do, how to behave, who to be friends with.” He paused, his voice soft. “I’ve never had to make up my own mind.”
“Why start now?” It came out harsher than she meant it to.
Oh, to have this boy’s problems
.
Brock looked at her strangely, then nodded as if determining that is was indeed a fair question. “Because I should?” He sounded unsure. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m going to college in the fall. This is the rest of my life we’re talking about. Shouldn’t I do something I want to do?”
“Are you asking for permission?” Devon prodded.
Brock just looked at her. His eyes were a combination of green and brown and grey, and they were very unhappy. “I have a lot of expectations on me,” he said, as if she wouldn’t understand.
Devon bit back a sharp reply. “And I would know nothing of expectations, is that what you’re telling me?” Oh, she knew the expectations everyone in town had for her. But she was determined to show them she wasn’t going to wind up like her mother. She stood up, gathering up the box as she went. “Look, Brock, the way I see it, your problems are pretty simple. Do you want to be trapped in a life you don’t want because of somebody else’s expectations? Or do you want to find the person you’re supposed to be?”
She took herself upstairs and back to her research without saying another word. Devon made her copies and headed home, without returning the box to the archives and without saying goodbye.
The next morning, she found a note in her locker. It read:
D-
Thanks. You gave me just the kick in the head I needed. 5YD9 See you Thursday.
-B
With a small, secret smile on her face, Devon folded the note and put it in one of the hidden pouches in her messenger bag.